


doodles

by 80slieberher



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, i hate tagging so im not going to
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-22
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-03-07 22:33:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 26,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13444800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/80slieberher/pseuds/80slieberher
Summary: a world where anything you draw on your skin shows up on your soulmate's.





	1. Potted Plants (stenbrough)

**Author's Note:**

> hi! this is my first like multichaptered fic that i ever wrote and it got a lot of good feedback and hype on tumblr so i figured I would share it here, too. Enjoy!

Stanley Uris had known his whole life through that he had a soulmate. It was as good as written in stone. Well - written in his skin, at least. 

She seemed like a nice girl. The artistic type, for sure. He remembered being a little kid and showing off the streaks of purple and yellow and green coloring his hands to his mother as she tucked him in. Once, there were even tiny pink hearts drawn on the tops of his knees.

“I’m sure she’s lovely, Stanley,” His mother would smile, softly kissing him on the head and turning on the moon-shaped night-light beside his bed.

He daydreamed about his soulmate, of course. If she was tall or short, had long hair or short hair, what color her eyes were. But there was one issue with daydreaming about these things - Stan didn’t daydream about perfect, Jewish girls. Or girls at all. 

When Stan closed his eyes, he smiled at the though of holding hands with  _boys_ , hugging, too, and maybe even…  _kissing_  them. 

He never necessarily thought there was anything wrong with this, and had instead thought it was rather presumptuous of his parents to assume his soulmate was a girl. But Stan knows his father would never be able to deal with the fact that Stan’s soulmate could possibly be a boy. 

It was bad enough the doodles distracted him from his studies. When his father assigned him readings, Stanley was often caught staring at his arms. He liked to watch all the little lines form a bigger picture. (For a while, his soulmate seemed fond of drawing little paper boats on waves. He wished his soulmate would draw more birds.)

So, hey, maybe the universe would cut him some slack this once and give him his father’s image of the perfect wife.

* * *

Stan pondered all of this on his walk to class. Chemistry wasn’t his favorite, but it was tolerable - even if only for the fact that in this particular period there appeared more doodles than any other time of the day. 

That’s how Stan felt about the whole school. Not optimal, but tolerable. He had only agreed to go to University of Southern Maine because he knew his best friend, Richie, probably wouldn’t be able to go on without him - and so they had to make a compromise. It was this or California, and Stan wasn’t extremely fond of big changes. 

So here he is, Stanley Uris, sitting in the most boring class of the day, rolling up his left sleeve, staring at his watch and waiting for the doodles to start. 

“Good morning class. Please turn to page 136 in your textbooks.”

_3… 2…_

“Today we’ll be exploring the causes and effects of carbon dioxide in the atmosphere.”

_1…_

And, on que, the doodling began. Stan sighed, a small smile creeping into his cheeks.

* * *

It took years for Bill Denbrough to accept he didn’t have a soulmate. 

A younger Bill would let his little brother outstretch his arms nightly and help him look for something,  _anything_ , that his soulmate might have left on his skin.

_“How about this one, Billy? Did your soulmate draw this one?”_

_“No, Georgie, I drew that one, too.”  
_

_“This one?”  
_

_“Nope, also me.”  
_

It kind of made Bill insecure about just how much he drew on himself. His soulmate, if there even was one out there, probably found it annoying to have their body inked up all the time without consent. But now that he knew there was no one, he scribbled and doodled and wrote as he pleased.

Bill had always been enchanted with the concept of soulmates. He loved the security that a guaranteed soulmate provided; Bill hated being alone, and, with a promised soulmate, this way he never really had to be. He always used to ask his mother, “Can you tell the way you and dad found out you were soulmates again?” at bedtime as a story.

When he was young, he did it on purpose: all the drawing on his arms and knees and anywhere skin was exposed. He figured it would make it easier to spot his soulmate in a crowd if they both had all the same drawings all over them. By now, though, it was just a bad habit. His best friend (’Queen Hypochondriac’, Bill called him) always scolded him for it, telling him he’d probably get ink poisoning and die. 

He had tried writing messages before. “Hi!” in graphic font, vying for attention and maybe some details, but no responses were ever granted.

But it had been years since that - he gave up trying a long time ago. It was better to just accept that the universe dictated that he was better off alone than it was to hope for someone that would never come.

* * *

So, here was Bill Denbrough, sitting in his despised first course of the day - Chemistry.

He waited for the professor to begin, already bored out of his mind. 

 _“Who cares about carbon dioxide?”_  Bill thought, starting to doodle on his arm. He liked to draw tiny potted plants lately. He swirled the pen around, making little curly designs over his wrist and planting them in a flower pot.

By the end of the lecture, Bill’s arm was half covered in black pen marks, and he knew he would get shit from Eddie about this the minute he walked  into their dorm. Eddie somehow always managed to beat him there, despite their classes being relatively the same times.

Bill absentmindedly walked back to the shared room, fully regretting skipping breakfast and wishing he hadn’t gotten up so late. Well, if you can call 8am ‘late.’

“Bill?!” Eddie called from the bathroom as Bill walked in. He sounded royally pissed off, but that’s Eddie for you.

“Yeah, it’s m-me.” He answered, looking left toward the bathroom door. Eddie appeared in the doorway, his face red with anger and his arms crossed. Bill had to stifle a laugh, “Ed-eddie-”

“I’VE SEEN IT, BILL. I ALREADY WANT TO DIE ENOUGH, OKAY? DON’T SAY A WORD.” Eddie seethes.

Bill erupts into laughter, walking into the bathroom with his friend. A bad drawing of a penis was drawn on Eddie’s forehead. Eddie tried, and failed, to find a way to comb his hair over it  - but it was still  _very_ noticeable.

“My soulmate is a fucking asshole, whoever he is.” The short boy grumbled, now trying to wash off the mark. No luck.

“Yeah, he seems like a real dick.” Bill chuckled again. “But how do you know it’s a ‘he’?”

“Not funny,” Eddie said through clenched teeth, but smiled a little before it faltered, “But you’re telling me.”

He rolled up the sleeves of the yellow sweater he was wearing, and revealed several other drawings of tiny dicks and other dumb obscenities. Among these Bill noted the word “FUCKSHIT” in bold, an old-timey garbage can, and what looked like a dead animal.

“I know because any  _girl_  that could possibly be ‘made for me’ would never do this shit. I don’t even like girls anyway, so how could my soulmate be one? Anyway, the point is if these aren’t fucking gone by thanksgiving break next week my mom will have an aneurysm, okay? If she sees this shit written all over me - I am serious!” Eddie exclaimed, explaining the soulmate concept to Bill again as he walked into the room area and sat on his bed. 

“Wish I could relate, buddy,” Bill sighed, following his small friend and plopping down on his own bed, checking his watch and estimating 30 minutes before his next class.

“No, no, you don’t. Not my soulmate at least. I bet your soulmate is calm and quiet and cute with a good sense of style who always smells like… like… Pear blossoms.” Eddie finished, satisfied with his prediction.

“Eddie,” Bill groaned, “Don’t talk like that. We both know I don’t have a soulmate.”

Eddie pulled a thick black marker out of his bag, “Not true. Personally, I think your logic is just messed up. I almost never write to my soulmate, and I barely doodle or draw on myself but I’m sure he knows I exist. To be honest, I think he does this shit to me on purpose,” He explained. Bill watched him slowly write ‘S T O P’ in large letters across his arm with the jumbo marker in his fist.

“Keywords: almost, barely. You know damn well there has  _never_ been a drawing or word or markon me that I haven’t made myself.” Bill retaliated, starting to grow irritated with his normally pessimistic friend, “Why do you always try to convince me I have a soulmate when I clearly don’t?” He snapped.

“Simply because I think you do, Billy. You’re a lovable, desirable guy - I would literally die for you. You have to have a soulmate, even if only for the fact that you deserve one,” Eddie turned, after returning the marker to his backpack, and walked over to where Bill way laying on his bed. He handed him two twenty dollar bills. “But listen, I need you to go to the nearest drugstore - I think the CVS - and buy concealer, foundation, and setting spray. I went to cover this,” He made a face and gestured to his forehead, “And realized I’m pretty much out and because of this, now it’s too late for me to go myself.”

Bill was quiet for a moment, staring at the ceiling, before smiling, “What’s the magic word?”

“Please, asshole,” Eddie lent a chuckle back while rolling his eyes.

“Alright, be back in a bit,” Bill agreed and got up, pulled on a hoodie and left, tucking the money and his phone in his front pocket while listening for the door to latch behind him. 

* * *

“Why would you do that? Your soulmate probably hates you for this. _I_ hate you for this and the dick isn’t even on my forehead.” Stan sighed, resting his hand from scrubbing his best friend’s forehead. “No luck.”

Richie laughed. “Guess we’ll just have to go to dinner with your parents with a dick on my forehead.” He shrugged, still laughing. “My soulmate hating me is the whole point. Maybe if I motivate them with rage they’ll come find me just to personally beat me up.”

“What if they’re not even mad?” Stan suggested, turning and rinsing the soapy rag in the sink.

“Wouldn’t you be mad if instead of little plants your soulmate drew dicks and words like ‘fuckshit’ all over you? Especially on your forehead? Plus,” Richie went to add, grabbing his glasses off of the bathroom counter and putting them back on, looking down at his arm where the last bit of the word “STOP” was forming, “This makes me think they might be pretty mad.”

“You’re making me regret inviting you to have dinner with me and my parents. You know how my dad is, dude.” He put his hand on his head and sighed, rubbing his temples. He wondered briefly if he could die from the nagging headache that went wherever Richie Tozier did.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry, Stanley. I’ll think before I act next time, I just got bored.” Richie apologized and swept his hair into his face. “How ‘bout this? Better?”

“That’s only a temporary fix, Richie.”

“Well, damn, Stan, I can’t control the penis on my forehead!” 

They were both silent for a minute, allowing Stan to think. Richie followed Stan when he made his way out of the bathroom.

“…Do you know what shade you are?” Stan questioned, turning around to face Richie.

“No?”

“Ugh, come with me. And keep your hair covering your forehead, dumbass.” Stan groaned, grabbing his jacket, wallet ,and keys.

“Where are we going? And what do you mean my shade? And what does this have to do with the dick on my head?” Richie bombarded as he followed Stan out to his car.

“We’re going to the CVS to buy you makeup to cover the dick. I asked what shade so I could possibly not bring you with me but you’re useless in that department. I’d let you use some of my makeup but I, one, don’t keep any heavy concealer like you’re gonna need, and, two, you have more blue undertones in your skin and I have pink.” Stan explained calmly, listening to the rain patter outside.

“Hey! I’ll wear my dick proudly if I so please. Turn around.” Richie demanded, crossing his arms.

“Not in front of my parents, you won’t.”

“Oh yes I will.”

“This won’t take long if you cooperate.” Stan rolls his eyes.

“I’m always cooperative!” 

“No, you’re really not. Especially not when  _I’m_  trying to get you to do anything.”

“That’s not what your mom says-”

“Beep, beep, Richie.” Stan parked the car in the CVS parking lot.

“Can I stay in the car?” Richie deadpanned like a teenager with their parent.

“No, asshole, I have to try the makeup on you to see which shade fits.” Stan answered, getting out of the car and walking toward the store, wallet and hands stuffed in the pockets of his bomber jacket. 

Richie jogged behind him, catching up quickly, finger-combing his hair in front of his forehead once again.

The sliding doors opened for the two boys and they stepped in wordlessly, the CVS Smell hitting their noses. 

As odd as it sounds, Stan loved CVS. He loved how organized it was, how convenient, and how nice the workers always were to him. He came here for nearly everything he needed.

“Hey Stanley, baby!” The slightly older, curly-haired woman behind the counter smiled and called to him, “You boys need help finding anything today?”

“Hi, Miss Steph! And no thank you, we’re okay.” He smiled back and waved. He liked the way the drawings - done by her husband on himself - showed on her dark skin. She had told him once that her husband only draws in gold or silver sharpie so that it glows on her. Stan thought that was really sweet, and always loved seeing the beautiful, tiny, gold doodles liter her manicured fingers.

Stan made a beeline for the makeup aisle, Richie begrudgingly following before bumping into a starstruck Stanley who had been stopped short at the front of the aisle. He quickly pretended to be looking at the eyeliner that was by him.

“Richie!” Stan whisper shouted, summoning his friend over to him, trying his best to act natural. 

“What?” Richie whispered back and stumbled closer to his friend.

“See that guy over there?” Stan risked a glance and point behind him, to a tall boy in a blue hoodie, looking at his phone and then squinting back to the rack of creams and powders.

“Yeah, what about him?” 

“That’s the cute guy from my Chem class, Bill.” Stan flushed, “I don’t think I’ve seen him off campus before.”

“Oh, the guy you never shut the fuck up about? ‘Raw me, Bill!’“ Richie mocked, a little too loud for Stan’s liking. 

“I’ve never fucking said that, asshole.” Stan scolded the trashmouth, quickly throwing a hand over Richie’s mouth and hoping Bill didn’t hear. 

But Bill was too busy trying to figure out which concealer Eddie wanted. He gave Bill easy instructions, along with pictures, and Bill still couldn’t understand. Makeup shopping is hard, and Eddie does this for what? Pleasure? He found it hard to believe. 

Richie continued talking under Stan’s hand, it all coming out muffled.

“He’s by the concealers, which is where we need to be. Fuck,” Stan mumbled, removing his hand from Richie’s mouth and using it to rub his temples again.

“So? Just go talk to him. If you know him, he probably knows you, too, right?” Richie shrugged.

Stan covered his face. “It’s not that fucking easy, Rich-” He looked up and noticed Richie already walking over to where Bill was standing and felt his heart speed up. He had to get over there first, before Richie said anything dumb. 

Bill truthfully just wanted to pick up Eddie’s shit and leave - he didn’t really like being late to class, and he actually liked his literature lectures.

Bill’s thoughts were interrupted by an impatient voice. “’Scuse me.”

A dark-haired boy in a red sweatshirt almost as tall as Bill moved right past him and under, looking at the concealers and making Bill take a step back. He made his selection and held it up, turning around.

“Will this work?!” The dark-haired boy called to his friend, who looked rather panicked as he hurried behind.

“I don’t know yet. W-we have to try them on you first,” He answered, sounding as nervous as he looked. Bill recognized him.

“Hey, we ha-have Chemistry together. Stanley, ruh-right?” Bill asked politely. He knew that  Stanley sat across the room from him in Chemistry, and he occasionally spared glances at the curly boy. He undeniably thought he was cute.

“Uh, yeah, and you’re Bill.” Stan blushed a little. He didn’t think Bill even knew his face, let alone his name or what class they had together.

“And I’m Richie. Glad we’re all acquainted. Now, the makeup stuff please, Stan. You’re the expert,” Richie huffed, clearly in a rush. He looked back to re-study the makeup, frowning.

The other boys ignored him.

“Euh-expert?,” Bill questioned, “Does he muh-mean you know what you’re d-doing?” He silently cursed his stutter. It always came back twice as bad when he was nervous or excited… Or drunk, but that’s an outlier.

“Uh, yeah, I guess so.”

“Do yuh-you think you could help me? M-my friend needs to c-cover some drawings from his soulmate and s-sent me here and I’m c-clueless.” Bill ended with a light chuckle. “I have puh-p-pictures.” He added, handing his phone to Stanley. 

Stan laughed a little, “Can’t relate,” He mumbled, “But yeah, I can help, lemme see.” He took the phone gently from Bill’s hand, surveying the pictures of products Eddie had sent.

Bill’s ears perked. Had he just heard what he thought he heard?

“W-what?” He asked before he could stop himself.

“Uh, I said I can’t relate. To the soulmate thing.” Stanley nervously clarified, making eye contact with the tallest boy of the three.

“Why n-not?” 

“I’d just never wanna cover anything my soulmate draws…” Stan answered softly, looking at his left arm and sighing contentedly before looking back up at Bill, “Why?” He turned to look for Bill’s friend’s preferred makeup in order to avoid Bill’s undecipherable, emotive stare.

“Oh, I j-just, uh, I don’t have a soulmate and I’d n-never met anyone else who didn’t a-and I don’t know.” He finished quickly. He wasn’t sure why he just said that.  _Stupid, stupid._

“How do you know you don’t have one?” Stan asked absentmindedly, now focused on the product labels. 

“N’body ever draws or wr-writes back,” Bill explained as Stan turned back around, “Every drawing on m-me is my own.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Stan replied, feeling awkward, “Well, I found the foundation, concealer, and setting spray your friend wants, down to the shade and all.” He counted them off as he spoke and ended by giving Bill a soft smile, meeting his eyes again. Bill had such pretty eyes…

“Thanks, St-Stanley. I’d stay a little longer but I gotta guh-get back and to class. I’ll see you ar-round?” Bill asked, smiling, snapping Stan out of his trance.

“Yeah - yeah, I’ll see you around,” Stan smiled back and waved as Bill walked toward the counter to pay and leave.

“God, he’s so cute,” Stan fawned in a whisper. 

“‘Raw me, Bill!’“ Richie fake moaned again before Stan punched his arm. “Hey! If anything, I should be discouraging you. I mean, you heard him, no drawings other than his own - poor guy doesn’t have a soulmate. That means it can’t be you. Sorry, man.” Richie tried to give a sympathetic smile, but was a tad bitter his friend had ignored him in favor of a crush. 

“Whatever. Come here, I picked out a few shades that look like they’ll work.”

Stan tried to hide his disappointment. He knew Richie was probably right, but didn’t care to admit it. He never cared to admit when Richie, of all people, was right.

It took twenty more minutes, but Stan finally found a shade he deemed to match his freckled friend perfectly. 

“Finally!” Richie exclaimed as they walked to the counter and Stan paid. “That took forever,” He continued to complain as they walked back to Stan’s car.

Stan listened to Richie talk as he became lost in thought, driving on autopilot. 

“Do you think he knows Ilike him?” He interrupted.

“Probably. You were blushing redder than a tomato.”

“Do you think that… Well, what if it just never occurred to Bill’s soulmate to draw on them-self?” 

“Honestly, if you ask me I think everyone’s drawn on them-self at some point or another - even by accident.”

“But what if it was only by accidents and Bill thought those were his accidents?”

“God, now you’re just getting technical. Look, believe what you want, man, but my soulmate is pretty prude and I still get little things sometimes. Dates and times, accidental pen marks, sometimes short lyrics to old 80′s songs. Or Beyonce.” He chuckled, thinking about his soulmate.

Stan was quiet.

“Listen, it happens. My uncle doesn’t have a soulmate and he’s just fine! Granted, he’s a hermit and only leaves his house to buy booze to feed his alcoholism, but other than that he’s completely fine!” Richie tried to make light of the situation, but only managed to make Stan feel worse.

“Alright, alright. I’ll stop thinking about it.”

But he didn’t stop thinking about it. He racked his brain the whole rest of the ride home as well as throughout the rest of his classes for times he could have drawn or marked on his body. 

He came up empty handed. 

He didn’t roll up his left sleeve again until he had gotten home from his last lecture, just to check how his soulmate was feeling today.

He guessed not very good, judging by the doodles of storm clouds with lightning and frowny faces. 

Richie came out of the bathroom with wet hair, a dress shirt on, and boxers. “Hey, we’re leaving soon, right? Are you gonna cover this thing or not?” He asked, pointing to his forehead. Stan chuckled and went to the bathroom so he could apply the makeup for Richie - lord knows what he would do if he could do it himself.

Stan masterfully masked the obscene drawing, so well that when Richie look in the mirror, he put on an accent and exclaimed, “Thank you, my good sir! There is nary a penis upon my forehead hereafter!”

Stan rolled his eyes and put on his dress clothes, not putting on makeup himself. He knew his dad would notice and wouldn’t appreciate it. Stan hoped his soulmate was more understanding - or, even better,  _liked_  it when he wore makeup.

While he waited for his best friend to finish getting ready (“I need to blow dry my hair! Where do you think I get the flawlessly wind-blown look from?”), Stan picked up a sharpie from the floor of Richie’s side of the room. He pulled up his sleeve a bit.

 _Hi_ , he doodled in between little potted plants, encircling it in a heart before putting the pen back down, as Richie was ready now and Stan detested being late. 

He traced the heart with his finger once before letting his sleeve fall, walking out the door and locking it behind him.

* * *

Bill had gotten home from his last course fifteen minutes ago, and was sitting at his desk trying to write an essay for Literature when it happened.

“E-Eddie!” He shouted immediately, “Eddie, Eddie, Eddie!”

“What?” Eddie groaned from his bed, “I’m right here.”

“M-my soulmate! Th-they’re writing!” 

“Dude! Really?!” Eddie scrambled out of bed and over to Bill’s desk, leaning over in time to watch the little word,  _hi_ , be enclosed by a heart. 

The two boys merely looked at each other for a minute, astonished, before their faces broke into wide smiles and they started squealing like little kids, jumping up and down.

“What did I tell you?! Oh, Billy, you do have a soulmate! I knew it, _I knew it_! Oh, I’m so happy for you!” Eddie clapped, possibly even more excited than Bill if that were possible.

“I h-have to tell Ge-Georgie! And mom and d-dad! Oh my god, Eddie! I ha-have a soulmate!”

“Wait! You have to respond to them! What if this is the only time they’ll ever write? You have to make the most of it!”

“F-fuck, you’re r-right, uh… O-oh, I know!”

Bill grabbed a pen and went to work. 

* * *

“Mom, dad!” Stan got up to greet his parents as the server led the man and woman to the table.

“Good evening, Stanley.” They greeted respectively, both hugging him and his mother kissing his cheek. “And hello, Richard.” She said, the two of them forcing smiles.

“Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Uris. Lovely weather we’re having.” He joked, undiscouraged by their lack of enthusiasm at seeing him.

“Mm. Quite.”

Stan pulled out his mother’s chair and took her coat, hanging it on the back before moving back to his own seat. 

“So, dad, how’s-” Stan started, before Richie kicked his leg harshly, nodding toward Stan’s left arm where his sleeve had ridden up a bit. Stan watched, dumbfounded, as numbers appeared on his skin. His parents looked at him from across the table expectantly.

“Uh, excuse us for just a minute, Mr. and Mrs. Uris.” Richie half-smiled, taking Stan’s arm and practically dragging him toward the bathroom.

“What the fuck, dude? My soulmate draws on me all the time, it’s not a big deal.” Stan questioned when they reached the bathroom, irritated. He just wanted a calm dinner with his parents.

“It’s a fucking phone number, dingus. And it says ‘now’.” Richie retorted, forcefully taking Stan’s arm and aggressively pushing back his sleeve. Sure enough, under his ‘hi’ there was a number sort of messily written, with the word “now” scrawled under it.

“I- Right now? Do I have to?” He complained.

“Yes and I want to be here to witness it. Do it or I will.” Richie somewhat teasingly threatened. Sometimes Stanley really needed a push out of his comfort zone. This was one of the reasons he loved Richie.

Stan pulled out his phone and carefully dialed the number, throwing Richie an anxious look as he put it up to his ear.

It was picked up on the first ring. “H-Hello?” 

“Bill?” Stan asked, incredulous. He’d know Bill’s stutter anywhere.

“S-Stanley? Is th-that you?”

“Uh, yeah, it’s me. You wrote your number on me?” He laughed.

“Well, a-actually, I wrote it t-on me,” The boy on the other end joked. “A-are you busy r-right now?”

“Uh,” Stan faltered. He could have dinner with his parents any other time. “Not at all. Why?”

“Do you w-want to m-meet me s-somewh-”

“Yes!” Stan interrupted, too quickly and too excitedly, making Bill giggle. 

“I-I’ll write you the ad-address” Bill said, talking fast.

“Okay. I have to go now, but like, I’ll be wherever it is in twenty minutes. See you!” Stan didn’t even wait for Bill to answer before hanging up, grabbing Richie’s arm abruptly and starting to drag him out of the bathroom. “Hey, you’re sick now.”

“Oh, I think I’m gonna puke!” Richie doubled over, holding his stomach and playing along. 

“Mom, dad, I’m afraid Richie is feeling extremely ill, I’m so sorry to waste your time. Maybe we can take a rain-check?” Stan excused himself quickly as they reached the table. Richie played it up by pretending to groan in pain.

“Oh, Stanley, seeing you is never a waste of time!” His mother answered, making Stan smile, “We love you!” She called as he began to walk away.

“Love you, too!” Stan called behind him, booking it out of the restaurant and to his car as soon as they were out of sight.

The boys scrambled into the car, Stan checking his arm all over for an address. “I think it’s his dorm,” Stan semi-laughed, buckling up and backing out of the parking lot, his heart beating fast.

Stan practically raced back to their own dorm and demanded Richie get out.

“What? Why? Without me this would never have happened!” He argued unsuccessfully.

“Richie!” 

“Okay, okay, I’m getting out, jeez. Good luck, dude! Don’t do anything I wouldn’t!” Richie wiggled his eyebrows, waving Stan off. 

Bill’s dorm was halfway across campus, and every second that brought Stan closer seemed to take twice as long to tick away.

* * *

Bill had kicked Eddie out immediately after getting off the phone with Stan.

“Where am I gonna go, Big Bill? I can’t believe you’re kicking me out! I’m a gay asthmatic virgin, do you know what they do to people like me on the streets?!” Eddie yelled jokingly, meanwhile being pushed out.

“Go make some friends Eddie, I’m sure there are plenty of nice guys just waiting to meet you. You can come back in an hour. Love you!” Bill joked back, shutting the door in front of Eddie. 

“My mother would never treat me like this!” He called from outside the door, but walked off anyway.

Bill felt bad, but, hey, at least it wasn’t dark out or anything yet. The setting sun made him a little wary of Eddie’s safety, but Eddie was 18 and capable of handling himself.

Now, Bill was sitting on his bed, reveling in the feeling of his heart thumping hard in his chest, waiting for Stan.

The knock on the door sent him jumping to his feet to answer it, and he had to take a deep breath to calm down. He opened the door.

“H-hey, Bill.” Stan greeted, looking up at Bill from underneath long eyelashes. 

Bill couldn’t think of what to say, and he didn’t want to stutter and mess anything up. So, instead, he opted for the next best thing.

He gently cupped Stan’s face in his hands and closed his eyes, placing a short-lived, sweet kiss on Stan’s lips. Stan’s face reddened immediately. 

“You have no idea how happy I am that you finally drew back.”

“Yeah, I’m sorr-” Stan began, but Bill silenced him with another kiss, lasting a few seconds longer this time. “I think I could get used to that.” He blushed again.

“Me t-too,” Bill smiled. 


	2. Candy Canes (reddie)

It was impossible for Eddie Kaspbrak to not know he had a soulmate. He hated this fact almost as much as he hated the thought of matching a plaid flannel with a polka dot skirt.

He wished his soulmate was more like Bill’s. Stan was quiet and kind, had a nice sense of style, and always smelled like pear blossoms. Stan also didn’t force Bill to wear long-sleeved shirts all the time to cover his doodles. Stan and Bill wore each other’s doodles proudly - and Bill even learned to draw birds just so he could draw them for Stanley.

Not Eddie’s soulmate. It made him grind his teeth.

As far as Eddie was concerned, his soulmate was a grade A asshole. You know, one time he drew a dick on his own head just so Eddie would have a dick on his head, too?

“Eddie, d-don’t you think it’s a little s-self-centered to say that? Maybe he drew a d-d-dick on his forehead for fun and didn’t even think about how it wuh-would affect his soulmate. It’s been awhuh-while since then anyway, and it’s gone now.” Bill suggested from across the room at his desk.

“Listen, I know it’s been over a month now, but no. I’m not over it. And I’m convinced he did it just to make me mad. I know so.” Eddie paced across the room again. “What an asshole. Can we trade?”

This made Bill chuckle. “You know I wuh-wouldn’t trade Stanley for a million dollars. Or a b-billion dollars. Or anything, for th-that matter.”

“Not even for your best friend in the whooole world?” Eddie batted his eyes at Bill who had swiveled around in his chair.

“Nope,” Bill laughed again, popping the ‘p’.

“Wow, Billy. Fake friend much? You disgust me, filth.” Eddie retorted, jokingly sticking his nose in the air and plopping down on his bed.

“So Christmas b-break is coming up…” Bill started, and Eddie put a pillow over his face.

“Ugh,” Eddie groaned from under the cushioning, “Don’t remind me. It feels like I just saw my mother a month ago. Hah. Oh, wait,” He said sarcastically and came up for air, rolling his eyes, his hair disheveled, “I did.” He deadpanned.

“You’re always w-welcome at my house, buddy. I’m s-sh-sh-sure Georgie wouldn’t mind someone who can actually b-bake cookies with him instead of me. I always b-burn his Christmas cookies,” Bill smiled, clearly reminiscing.

“I know you don’t expect me to take you up on the offer, but I actually might. My mother and my aunts all interrogated me non-stop about my soulmate over Thanksgiving dinner. I practically choked when I almost called my soulmate a ‘he.’” Eddie sighed, “I just know she would never accept me. I don’t think I can stand to see her again and listen to her beg me to come home and shit for at least another couple months.”

“Like I said, Eddie, you’re always weh-welcome. My parents love you like theh-their own son, honestly.” Eddie can tell Bill was being sincere from the way Bill rested his chin on his folded hands, looking Eddie in the eyes.

“Thanks, Billy.” The short boy smiled earnestly.

“Not to m-mention…”

“Oh god, what are you going to force me to do this year?”

“Nothing wuh-worse than last year, I promise!” Bill was quick to defend his idea.

“I’ll say. I’m all for Christmas dinners but your Uncle Ned should consider maybe not getting blackout drunk at a family party. And also maybe a breath mint. His breath smelled like a cigarette and an onion had a baby. At least, it did before he puked down my shirt.” Eddie laughed, though when it happened he actually wished he would die, right then and there.

“I swear, you spuh-spent a week in the shower,” Bill giggled hard, “But seriously, seriously.” He calmed down. “Bev’s throwing a p-party back home. Stan only lived a district away from us - he wuh-went to Packer High - so I invited him and he’s bringing a fr-friend. But anyway, I think it’d be good to get the ol’ gang b-back together - you, me, and Bev.”

Eddie groaned. “You know I love Bevvie more than life, but she doesn’t go to school that far from us. It’s only, like, a 30-something minute drive from here, we could go see her any time! I just had coffee with her two weeks ago! Do I have to go?”

“It’s th-that or spend the night at your mother’s house.”

“I hate you - fine.” Eddie agreed, however begrudgingly.

“Yay! D-don’t worry, I’ll make sure nobody puh-pukes on you this year.” Bill promised.

“Yeah, if you and Stanley aren’t too busy eating each other’s faces the whole time.” Eddie retorted, rolling his eyes. Bill blushed.

* * *

Richie Tozier loved his soulmate already. He was confident his soulmate was the cutest person he’d ever see, even if he hadn’t seen them. With every candy cane doodled on the tops of feet, (He didn’t know why his soulmate drew only there. Sure, notes were written on palms and wrists but doodles were strictly on the feet. Maybe they had a foot fetish) he adored his soulmate even more.

Richie knew he annoyed his soulmate. He laughed when he would graffiti his own skin and get a sassy response. It made his day.

Stan snapped Richie out of his thoughts as they walked into their dorm together.  
“By the way, I’m not letting you spend the holidays alone on campus in our dorm room. You’re coming home with me, you can stay at my house.” Stan claimed suddenly. 

Richie sighed in response. “Listen, just because my parents don’t want me around doesn’t mean I can’t manage. I stayed home for Thanksgiving, so I’ll be fine, really. I don’t want to be around my family anyway and I can’t go to your house and impose - your parents already don’t like me.”  
  
“No, no, that’s sad. I hate your parents, so that makes us kind of even. Right?Opposite reciprocals cancel out,” Stan defended, brushing the snow off of his jacket as he walked through the door, “Look, you don’t even have to celebrate Hanukkah with us. Although, my dad would probably appreciate it. But I have to say, after our make-up dinner with them the other week, I think they like you a little more. My mom even said she thinks college matured you.”

“You’re not going to let me say no, are you?” Richie sighed. 

“No. I’m not.” Stan turned and smiled softly. “Bill lives a district away from Parkland, he and his friends went to Derry High School. One of his close high-school friends is throwing a holiday party and he asked me to come. Naturally, after the word party was mentioned, I thought of my best friend Richie Tozier, life of every party I’ve ever been to.” Stan noticeably tried to play to Richie’s ego, hanging up his coat in his closet and removing the scarf from his reddened cheeks. 

“You know how to motivate me, Stanny-boy, I’m in.” Richie smirked and agreed. 

To say he loved Derry parties would be an understatement. Derry kids could get pretty wild, and Richie had always hated how conservative Parkland seemed in comparison. Plus, once, in his junior year, he saw the cutest boy (possibly on the entire planet) at one. The boy hung around a girl with flaming red hair nearly the whole party, and Richie caught him filling up his cup with tap water instead of alcohol. He could have easily talked to the boy, but something in him felt like he shouldn’t. Like it wasn’t the right time.

Nevertheless, the encounter felt like Cinderella to Richie - because after that he went to every Derry party he could, all in hopes of seeing that one boy again and just getting his name. Tragically, he never did, but did that stop him from hoping? Of course not.

“On top of that,” Stan added, “Bill’s roommate is really cute,” He gushed, “And I think he’ll hate you.”

Richie cackled, “Now! What makes you say that? Am I not pleasant to be around?”

“That’s certainly one way to put it, Tozier.” Stan answered, shaking his head and laughing, taking a seat on his bed. “Well, we’re leaving for home for the next two weeks tomorrow morning, so get packing.”

“Jesus, Stanley, could you have told me any later?”

“It wouldn’t have made you pack any earlier no matter when I told you,” Stan shrugged and Richie chuckled, knowing his best friend was right.

“You know me too well.”

* * *

Bill and Eddie’s two-and-a-half hour road trip back home was filled with screaming Christmas songs at the top of their lungs, car ride games, and Eddie doodling candy canes on his the tops of his feet.

“Why d-do you do that?” Bill asked when he looked over at his doe-eyed friend.

“Because,” Eddie poked his tongue out a little, focusing on his drawing, “They’re, like, the only things I know how to draw and they’re only appropriate this time of year. But also, I want to be the only one who can see them.”

“Well, your s-soulmate can s-see them, too.”

“He can go fuck himself. They’re my candy canes and they’re cute and good and I love them and I refuse to let him pervert them.”

Bill laughed in response, turning up the radio a little louder. Eddie started belting lyrics immediately.

“SIMPLY HA-AVIN’ A WONDERFUL CHRISTMASTIME,” He sang, “I LOVE THIS SONG!”

“I KNOW!” Bill yelled back, mocking him.

Shortly after the song ended, Bill turned the radio back down and allowed the car to glide smoothly into the familiar driveway of his home.

“So, what’s the game plan, Big Bill?” Eddie questioned, knowing  _Social Bill_  had definitely already made plans, as they got out of the van and went to unload their things from the trunk.

“Well, I know Stan c-came up a couple of days ago, so I’m gonna meet up with him for a little. You’re wuh-welcome to come, if you want, I know he has his ruh-r-roommate with him as well.” Bill spoke as they dragged their suitcases into his room and the Denbrough’s guest room respectively.

“I should probably go see my mom for a little while, give her the gift I got her,” Eddie rationalized, “I know Christmas isn’t for a couple days, but I’m planning on only having to see her once this trip so I might as well check it off the list early.”

“Speaking of, the p-party is tonight. Just so you kn-know,” Bill informed him with a slight smile, hoping Eddie wouldn’t try to back out.

Eddie rolled his eyes. “I know, I know. Don’t worry, I’ll go. I feel like the parties you’ve dragged me to this year have helped me get out of my shell, anyway. I just know Bevvie is gonna have a blow out, and I’m not sure how I feel, you know?”

They conversed as they walked into the kitchen, being greeted by a cheerful Mrs. Denbrough and Georgie. 

“Hey, Big Bill!” The younger boy smiles, “Hey Eddie!” 

“You’re calling me b-big, look at you! For 14 yuh-you sure are tall, Georgie.” Bill complimented.

“Well, I am related to you,” He retaliated lovingly as Bill ruffled his hair, “Hey, watch the hair!” He giggled. “I missed you, big bro. And congrats on the whole soulmate sitch. I always knew.”

“Right! See, Bill, we always told you so!” Eddie chimed in, smiling proudly.

“Yeah, yeah,” Bill waved them off, walking over to his mother and giving her a hug and kiss.

“Hi, Eddie, darling!” She hugged him, too. “How have you been? How’s school? How’s volunteering at the Children’s Hospital?”

Eddie smiled wide, “Good, good, and kind of gross but worth it - so also good. How about you, Mrs. Denbrough, what’s been going on?”

“Well, Georgie and I were just about to bake some cookies, so you boys are just in time!”

And so, that’s how the Denbroughs and their informally adopted Kaspbrak son spent the afternoon, Eddie forgetting entirely about his mother and Bill moving back his plans with Stan to tomorrow. He would see him tonight anyway, right now what mattered to all of them was not burning the cookies.

* * *

Stan and Richie laid next to each other on Stan’s big bed, bored.

“Day three of prison,” Richie narrated, “Stan’s boyfriend cancelled on him so he’s been bitter for going on four hours. I don’t know how I’m going to survive this wave of boredom. If I don’t write within the next week, just know I’ve moved on-” He continued until Stan elbowed him in the gut, making him interrupt himself to exclaim, “Ow!”

“I am not bitter!” Stan defended.

“Your tone disagrees.” Richie deadpanned, earning another playful shove.

“Whatever. There’s only a couple hours until the party, we could just get ready now.” Stan suggested, getting up.

“Ughhhh,” The taller boy groaned from the bed, unmoving, “I said I was bored, not that I wanna move. I’m so lazy.”

“Suit yourself, but if you fall asleep I’m gonna do your makeup while you nap and then you’ll have to wear it to the party.” Stan threatened as he left the room and headed toward the bathroom. He had said it in a teasing manner but Richie understood the seriousness behind it, and thought it best he get up.

“Curse you, Stanley Uris.” He said, jokingly raising his fist as if Stan could still see him, and moving to his duffel bags to pick out something to wear.

15 minutes later, Stan was out of the shower and Richie was sat on the bedroom floor fiddling with a hairbrush and blow dryer, trying to get the style right.

“Are you gonna do your makeup?” Richie asked. He knew Stan hasn’t gone all out with his makeup done in front of Bill yet.

“I don’t know… What if he thinks it’s, like, gay?” Stan worried, making Richie laugh. Stan rolls his eyes. “You know what I meant. What if he doesn’t like it or something?”

“You’re soulmates, dude, he has to like you any way you are. Otherwise he’s out of luck. Be yourself, Stan the man.”

“‘Cause that’s been going  _so well_  for you.” Stan teased the boy still brushing his hair.

“Hey, different strokes for different folks is all I have to say on that matter.”

“ _All_  you have to say? That’s a first.”

“Shut up, asshole, I’m being sincere.” Richie groaned jokingly, lightly kicking Stan.

“Thanks, Richie, seriously.” Stan smiled at his best friend. “Maybe being away from your parents for so long really has softened you up. I think I will do my makeup.”

“You should do your lipstick the same color as the tip of Bill’s dick so he gets the hint,” Richie responded coolly, smirking to himself. This remark earned him a smack on the back of the head from Stan.

“Can it, trashmouth.”

Richie rambled on about several different things while he watched Stan apply his makeup. Creams and powders and liquids - Richie didn’t know all the technical words for them, except one: eyeliner.

Stan had waited to put it on last, and Richie debated asking in his head.

 _‘Hey, can I try?’_  He practiced.  _No, no, I need him to do it for me so it actually looks good. Maybe I should buy some and practice… But I have no time now. Maybe I shouldn’t ask this time and it’ll be a surprise next time? What would dad think if he saw me wearing eyeliner? Mom? No, wait, irrelevant…_

“You okay?” Stan asked, “You haven’t said anything in three minutes. Don’t tell me you’ve suddenly gone mute.” The curly haired boy joked, spraying himself with setting spray.

“You wish, Uris,” Richie snickered and Stan feigned a sigh.

“Yes, I do.”

“Anyway, dickwad, will you do my eyeliner?”

The question caught Stan off guard. “You mean… This?” He asked, mind-boggled, pointing to the flawlessly winged eyeliner on his lid.

“Well, yeah. That’s what it’s called, isn’t it? Eyeliner? I was looking at it that one time at CVS when I had the -,” He gestured to his forehead, suddenly shy, “It looked cool, but like if you don’t wanna do it that’s fine I don’t really care I just know you want to do my makeup sometimes and I always say no and-” He spoke quickly, becoming sidetracked.

“Beep, beep, Richie.” Stan smiled. “Come here, sure I’ll do your eyeliner. I just didn’t expect you to ask. Do you want it done like mine?”

“Maybe a little smaller… I just want a tiny wing,” Richie softly smiled, “Thanks.” He breathed, looking down at his hands while Stan sat down across from him, felt-tip liner in his right hand.

“Chin up, I kind of need to see your face,” He smiled wide, grabbing Richie’s chin and gently tilting it upward, Richie closing his eyes and feel Stan’s breath fan across his face as he worked carefully.

* * *

Eddie followed Bill through the sloppily painted door of Bev’s place, small red gift bag in hand, noting ‘Jingle Bell Rock’ coming to a close. 

“Bill! Eddie! You guys made it!” The hostess exclaimed, smiling wide and approaching them.

“Bevvie! I - well - we got you a little something!” Eddie squealed and beamed, shoving the sparkling red bag into her hands. 

“Yeah!” Bill enthused. “Open it, op-pen it!”

She opened her mouth and let out a loud, cheerful laugh. Eddie missed Beverly so much. “Okay, okay!” She said, reaching into the bag and pulling out the velvet blue box. She opened it gently to reveal the gold necklace with the word ‘Loser’ scrawled as the pendant decoration. “Aw, oh my gosh!” She touched her chest, beaming back at the slightly shorter boy, “The three of us, Derry High’s Losers forever! Thank you, guys.” She pulled both of them into a hug in gratefulness.

Bill checked his phone as they pulled away, “Stan is on h-his way now, he and his friend sh-should be here soon.” He stated, looking at his screen. Eddie watched him type something back quickly, ending it with a heart emoji.

“Great!” Beverly clapped, “The more the merrier! And is this the Stan that Eddie keeps telling me about?” She wiggled her eyebrows.

“Shush, Bevvie! I wasn’t supposed to tell you!” Eddie acted.

“Oops! Sorry!” Beverly played along, Bill rolling his eyes at his two best friends. “I know you were planning on telling me eventually, Big Bill,” She scoffed sarcastically, still giggling, “But seriously, I’m so happy for you! Congratulations! Just don’t forget to invite me to the wedding!”

“I’ll personally make sure of it,  _I’d_  never forget about you, Bev!” Eddie gloated. 

“Shut up, you a-assholes.” Bill smiled as the doorbell rang.

“Oh, coming!” Bev yelled behind her at the door, “Help yourselves to drinks, guys!” She called behind her, walking to get the door.

“You heard the w-woman, Ed,” Bill saluted, turning and jokingly beginning to soldier-march to the kitchen. He poured a mixed drink for himself and Eddie, but didn’t put much vodka in Eddie’s. Eddie noticed.

“Hey!” He objected as he peered past Bill just as Bill turned to give him the cup.  
  
Bill pushed the cup into his hands, “I know how you are d-drunk, and I know you’ll be it by the end of the n-night. I didn’t want to start you off early - you’ll th-thank me later,” He smirked and took a sip of his own drink, Eddie making a dramatic frowning face and taking the cup. Bill’s phone went off and lit up in his pocket. He pulled it out.

“Stan’s a-almost here,” Eddie observed the way Bill’s face instantly lit up. He soberly wished he could be in love like Bill and Stanley were. “I’m guh-gonna go greet him with Bev at the door.”

“I’m gonna go mingle, who knows, maybe I’ll find my soulmate right here in good ol’ Derry,” He teased and rolled his eyes, his friend laughing out a ‘You n-never know!’ before walking off.

But Eddie did know. Or, he thought so, at least. He could never be with someone from Derry. He hated Derry and almost everyone in it - except for Bill and Bev, of course.

‘Santa Claus is Coming to Town’ Jackson5 rendition was just starting, and Eddie looked into the living room where people were dancing. He trashed the drink Bill gave him and concocted himself a new one quickly, pouring a lot more vodka in than he needed before maneuvering into the room.

Back in high school, this wouldn’t have been his scene. At old high school parties that Beverly and Bill had to practically drag him to, Eddie could be found in the corner with a full cup of water or sticking strictly to Beverly’s side. He thought simply witnessing the sweaty, high, and drunk teenagers before him was disgusting enough; let alone actually join them. 

But college had changed Eddie Kaspbrak, he realized, as he took a confident gulp of his drink and made his way toward the assumed dance floor. 

* * *

Richie couldn’t help but fidget as he and Stan waited for someone to answer the door.

“I hope this is the right house.” Stan squirmed anxiously.

“I’m one-hundred percent sure it is, Stan-o,” Richie soothed, “My directional senses are on-point, thanks for having so much faith in me.” He added the last bit sarcastically, feigning hurt.

“So what you’re telling me is this is definitely the wrong house?” Stan bounced back, giggling a bit at his own sass as the door opens.

Bill, who Richie had met on a few previous occasions, was towering over the shoulder of a girl with pixie cut, fiery red hair who greeted them with, “Hi! You must be Stan and company!” 

Richie noticed the warmth in her smile and the love in Bill’s voice as he greeted Stan, the two inside ushering in the two on the porch.

“Richie Tozier, but you can call me… anytime,” He delivered the terrible pickup line with finger guns pointed at the girl and a wink.

“Beverly Marsh,” She replied, “But you can call me… Bev.” She winked and finger gunned back at him, mockingly. He could tell they were going to get along very well. He listened to the music emanating from another room. ‘Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays’ was fading out, soon replaced with ‘Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree’.

“Well, Miss Marsh, shall we fuck off and let these dickheads suck face in peace? Nice to see you again, too, Bill, by the way.” Richie smirked at the couple already making out as Stan flipped him off behind his own back. Richie offered Beverly his arm, and she linked hers with it.

“I say we shall,” She agreed and playfully skipped, leading him into the kitchen.

“So, Beverly Marsh, this may come as a surprise but this is not our first time partying together,” He informed her as they stood in the kitchen, conversing. Beverly hopped up to sit on the counter.

“Dude! I thought you looked familiar! I can’t place it, though, so tell me.” She punched his arm lightly.

“Yeah,” Richie started, recalling the memory, “You were pretty drunk-” The doorbell rang again.

“Shit,” She said under her breath quickly, “I have to get that, but I’ll find you later!” She hopped of the counter and scurried away back into the other room before Richie could reply. He didn’t mind. The house wasn’t huge, he’d find her again.

Richie picked up the drink he had been making for himself, taking a sip and glancing into a more populated room. ‘Wonderful Christmastime’ by Paul McCartney had begun to play, and Richie decided he had to join in the dancing. This was his favorite Christmas song, how could he not?

As he approached the crowd of people, he noticed one boy in particular. He was the center of the room, inhibition-less among the drunk teens and young adults, dancing his heart out alone. 

The light shone perfectly on his perfect, lightly freckled face, and Richie thought this might just be the most beautiful boy he’d ever seen. He took in his closed eyes, chocolate curls, perfectly-kissable, upturned lips, and cute little button nose.

_Fucking Cinderella boy._

Before Richie could even think to stop himself, he was making his way over to the boy, desperate after years to at least know his  _fucking_ name.

This was apparently the only thing he could think of, because when he reached the boy, he simply shouted over the people and the music, “What’s your fucking name?!”

The boy suddenly stopped dancing, looking at Richie, “What?” He furrowed his eyebrows confusedly.

Richie huffed and grabbed onto the boys wrist, pulling him out of the crowd. The boy dropped his empty cup at the sudden force. 

Richie pulled them to the nearest wall, where it was quieter. A couple was making out beside them. 

“I said,” Richie breathed, “What’s your name? I’m Richie.”

The boy giggled drunkenly. God, this kid looked like a light-weight, but Richie didn’t really think-

“You’re fucking hot, is what you are,” The shorter boy flirted, interrupting Richie’s thoughts, drooping doe eyes looking up at Richie.

“What?” He replied dumbly, but quickly shook his head, “That doesn’t answer my question. What’s your name?” He repeated. He didn’t know why he’s so fixated on it at this point. He took a sip of his drink in an attempt to be casual.

“My name is Eddie,” He, Eddie, giggled again, “Did you hear me before? From all the way up there? You’re so tall. And, like, really cute. Can I kiss you?”

 _Fuck yeah you can!_ Richie’s brain screamed.

“Nice to meet you, Eds,” The nickname rolled off of Richie’s tongue like it belonged there, like it was meant for only Richie to say.

Eddie frowned. “’T’s not my name.”

“Well, anyway,  _Eds_ ,” Richie teased the drunk boy, “I am too much of a gentleman to kiss a dime when they’re intoxicated and I’m sober.”

“Oh my god, are you straight? I’m sorry, ew, oh my god,” Eddie sputtered, putting his hands up in disgust meanwhile taking a step back. Richie cackled.

“I wouldn’t call it straight.”

Eddie stopped, looking at him, puzzled again. “Okay… So I’m not really understanding why we can’t kiss then… You know, the moment’s ruined - we can’t even kiss now.” He babbled.

“I just don’t want to take advantage of you, that’s all. I like your makeup, by the way. Red suits you,” Richie smoothly complemented the boy’s eyeshadow, still hoping to score Eddie’s number.

“Thanks, asshole, I like your eyeliner. Not often you see makeup on a guy that isn’t a twink, but I’ve always thought makeup on any guy was hot,” He drunkenly rambled the confession, “Now come on, hot, eyeliner-wearing stranger, I’m thirsty,” He slurred and tugged helplessly on Richie’s hand.

Richie was endeared, for some odd reason. He didn’t usually like drunk people unless he was one of them, and coupled with being bossed around, Richie would usually be headed for the hills by now with a bad excuse to get out of the situation. But, for no known reason, he let himself be pulled off the wall by the bossy drunk boy and toward the kitchen.

“It’s Richie, and I think you could use a glass of water,” He suggested innocently, although he was kind of having fun talking to Eddie in this state. It was entertaining. 

“Water?” Eddie scoffed, still holding Richie’s hand even though Richie was keeping pace with him easily (Richie wouldn’t admit to liking it as much as he did), “Who am I? High school Eddie Kaspbrak? No, no, no,” He slurred again, “I’m college Eddie Kaspbrak.”

“Eddie Kaspbrak,” Richie repeated under his breath, savoring the sound.  “What’d’ya mean by that, Eds?” He asked aloud for Eddie to hear as they reached the kitchen, half hoping to distract Eddie from the alcohol. It didn’t work.

He surveyed Eddie’s movements as he poured himself another drink, taking a sip of it immediately. Richie had forgotten about the red cup in his own hand, and took a sip, too.

“I mean I’m only a loser because Bill and Bev are, not because I’m actually a loser anymore.” He said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the word. Richie didn’t get it.

“What’s wrong with being a loser?” He leaned against the counter and caught Eddie’s wobbling arm from spilling his drink.

“Everything! Now I drink and I dance at parties and I’m cool,” He explained again, not even noticing that Richie hadn’t let go of his arm. “I even smoke weed sometimes. Do you know what my mother would say if she knew? I think she would have a heart attack, actually.” Eddie rambled on, and Richie laughed at the obviously innocent boy.

“You’re cute, Eds, but I don’t think there’s anything wrong with being a loser. In fact, I think that’s hot. But if you’re not a loser, then I guess-”

“Are you kidding?” Eddie sputtered quickly, cutting Richie off, “I’m the biggest loser I know.” He straight-faced. Richie knew he was cruel for this.

“I think you’re saying that just to get into my pants,” Richie smirked, taking another gulp of his drink. He felt buzzed now.

“Maybe,” Eddie laughed, taking a step closer and twisting the strings of Richie’s hoodie in his left hand.

Richie bit his lip.  _Am I still too sober to make out with him right now?_

* * *

“Hey, Eds,” Richie’s breath fanned down onto Eddie’s face.  _God, he’s so hot._  

“Hmm?” Eddie hummed in response, the only though in his mind being: _Is he gonna kiss me? I hope he kisses me. God, I really hope he kisses me._

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re so gosh-darn cute?” Richie pinched his cheek and Eddie pulled away as fast as he could possibly manage, but Richie’s arms were too long and reached him anyway.

“Go suck a candy cane, you - you, trashmouth,” He glared at Richie, cursing him in his mind.

“Only if it’s yours, Eds.” Richie smirked. 

The innuendo didn’t communicate to drunk Eddie in time, and before he knew it, he was sassing back. “I’ll make you choke on it,” He growled in annoyance.

“Woah, woah, Eddie Spaghetti! At least take me to dinner first!” Richie blurted, opening his mouth and letting out a hearty laugh. Eddie loved the sound, but stayed angry nevertheless.

“I - I -” Eddie fumbled, his brain feeling fuzzy as he tried to come up with something to say to excuse himself from what he just said. “Fuck.” He settled, not knowing what else to say except the only word on his mind. He put his hand on his head, it hurt a little.

“I think you need to sit down,” Richie’s face changed from a smirk to concerned in a matter of milliseconds as he began leading Eddie to the nearest couch. 

There was another couple making out on it and Richie kicked them off swiftly with a, “Hey. Kindly fucking move.”

They flipped him off but moved to the corner of the room anyway.

Richie handed Eddie a cup, and Eddie took a sip. It was water. “I don’t want that.” He pushed the cup away, shaking his head. “Where’s my drink?”

“Oh, this?” Richie held the mix Eddie made in his hand, just out of Eddie’s reach. He took a sloppy sip from it, somehow seeming to know this would bother someone like Eddie. “Here.”

“You’re fuh-fucking disgusting, it’s got your slobber all over it now,” He whined.

“Guess you have no choice but to drink your water now, Eds. Sorry,” Richie outsmarted him. “And I didn’t hear you complaining about my slobber when you wanted it in your mouth. Or on your-”

“Say no more, trashmouth, I’ll drink the damn water.” Eddie put his finger up to Richie’s lips to shush him. Richie licked it. “God! Could you get any nastier?”

“Only in bed, babe. You should really choose your words more wisely around me,” Richie leaned his head back and smirked for the umpteenth time that night, his eyes never leaving Eddie. Despite knowing Richie was the exact type of person he fucking hated, Eddie, to put it simply, wanted to jump his bones as soon as possible.  _That’s the alcohol talking. I’m drunk._  He noticed Richie finish his other drink for him. 

“Oh, no,” Eddie found himself thinking out loud, “I can’t prove Bill right. He said, he said - That thing! ‘Bout me and being drunk. I have to be right.” He rambled, eyes widening at his basic realization. 

“Hey, hey,” Richie slurred, drunkenly now, “I think you need to… Need to calm down for a minute.” He chuckled lowly, pointing lazily at Eddie.

“You’re drunk,” Eddie replied.

“No, ‘m not, you are.”

“I think… I think we both are. Does that mean I can kiss you now?”

“Okay, yeah, maybe. Yeah.. Yeah.” Richie agreed slowly, seeming to think about it.

And with that, Eddie leaned forward and messily knocked his mouth into Richie’s, their lips moving sloppily in somewhat sync with the other’s.

Eddie moved from his cross-legged position to kneeling, and grabbed a handful of Richie sweatshirt to keep his balance, effectively pulling Richie down further and causing them to knock heads in the midst of making out. Richie opened his mouth, “Ow!” He complained but laughed anyway. Eddie giggled, too, lips still working the other boy’s.

They fumbled around a bit more, and somehow Eddie ended up with one leg over Richie’s lap but not exactly straddling him, and his arm strewn over Richie’s shoulder, other arm around his neck playing with his hair. Richie was pressed straight against the couch, his hands on Eddie’s side supporting him and on the outside of his thigh. 

Passion had soothed into lazy, wet mouth movements, but both were content. Eddie only pulled away when the familiar notes of ‘All I Want for Christmas is You’ by Mariah Carey rang in his ears.

“Oh my god, this is, like, my second favorite Christmas song, I have to go dance,” He excited himself.

“Can I come?” Richie smiled with his eyes wide. Eddie noted how magnified they were by his clunky glasses - even in the twenty first century.  _How can he even manage to look that fucking attractive? How did I end up with the hottest guy here?_

Eddie didn’t answer, just took Richie by the hand for the second time that night and led him to the dance floor. 

Both of them barely left the other’s side for the rest of the night - the shorter boy always dragging the lankier in between the kitchen, the dance floor, and their couch. It was the most fun Eddie had had at a party in a long time, or maybe even in general. 

But all good things must come to an end, he soon learned as Bill approached him on the couch. Richie had left him alone to get another drink, and so Eddie sat alone on the couch, waiting for his… friend to return.

“Hey, c-c’mon, Eddie, our ub-uber’s outside.” Bill hiccuped, clearly as shit-faced as Eddie.

“But, but-” Eddie stammered. He didn’t know how to explain, looking toward the kitchen.

“P-please, Eddie, I w-wanna g-go home,” Bill drunkenly whined, an unusual occurrence, so Eddie decided to go with him without protest. “Sorry, Richie,” He said sadly, under his breath. Bill didn’t hear him as they walked toward the back door.

* * *

Richie stumbled into Stan on his way to the kitchen. His eyes looked puffy, but Richie didn’t mention it.

“Hey, I was just looking for you. We’re leaving now, I got us an uber,” Stan said, looking only slightly more sober than Richie, which wasn’t much. 

“But - but, I-” Richie stuttered, trying to explain.

“Please, Richie, it’s four in the morning. I’m fucking tired,” Stan practically begged. Richie sighed and was silent for a minute.

“Okay,” He obliged sadly, following Stan out toward the front. 

_I didn’t get his fucking number._

The pair trudged out the door and into the uber, both of them silent the entire ride home except for the “Thank you,” they offered their driver as they climbed out of the backseat.

Neither of them spoke until they reached Stan’s room. Richie closed the door as quietly as he could, and as soon as he turned around, Stan hugged him. Richie could feel tears soak his t-shirt, his sweatshirt being hung up in the coat closet by Stan just a few minutes ago. 

“Hey, hey,” Richie spoke softly and surprisingly calmly, moving his arms around to Stan to rub his back. “What happened, why are you crying?”

“I don’t know,” Stanley confessed, “I saw Bill with this girl, and, and I’m insecure - and, and drunk, and-,” He started to cry harder.

“Shhh,” Richie soothed him gently, again, “Did you guys have a fight?” Richie knew Stan was an emotional drunk, and felt bad he didn’t warn Bill if they did have a fight. The lord knew Richie and Stan had had plenty of their own drunken blow-outs- even just as best friends.

“Y-yeah, I got all mad and upset and I didn’t realize the girl was literally fucking Beverly and he was just hugging her because they’re best friends and I got mad and then he was mad and I’m so fucking dumb,” He cried again, all of this coming out muffled against Richie’s chest, and Richie bit his lip. He should’ve warned Bill, definitely. They’ll smooth it out when they’re sober.

“I think you need some sleep, Stan. You’ll feel a lot better about this in the morning.” 

Stan pulled away and looked at Richie’s shirt, frowning. “I got makeup on you. I’m sorry,” He sniffled. 

Richie laughed quietly, “Don’t worry about it, Eddie spilled his whole drink on me at one point tonight, so this shirt will be going in the wash either way.” He rambled, effortlessly bringing up the object of his infatuation. 

“Eddie?” Stan asked.

“Yeah, he’s this really cute guy I met at. Cinderella boy, actually.”

Stan nodded in understanding, now getting into bed. Richie got into the trundle bed below him.

“That’s Bill’s roommate’s name,” Stan muttered sleepily after a minute.

Richie yawned before it clicked in his mind what Stan had said. “What?” He asked, but Stan didn’t answer, seeming to have fallen asleep.  _Fuck._

* * *

Every day for the next week, Eddie wondered about Richie. He asked Bev if she knew him, he she confessed to only meeting him passingly as well. 

Right now, he was on his way to his mother’s house. It was the day after Christmas day, and although he had had a wonderful time with Bill’s family, he knew it was time he face up to his own. He didn’t plan on staying long. 

He knocked on the door, watching his breath fog up in front of him. He concentrated on it.

“Eddie Bear!” She squealed when she opened the door. “Oh, I thought you weren’t going to come see your poor old mother! I missed you so much!”

“Hi, mommy,” He forced, “I got you something.” He handed her the wrapped box he’d been holding.

“Thank you, dear, I got you some things as well,” She ushered him inside and showed him to the plastic tree she had put up since he was little. There were several presents under it, carefully wrapped with shiny bows on top. He knew what she was trying to do, and he wasn’t playing this game.

“Oh, ma, I really appreciate it but I’m afraid I can’t stay for long,” He forced again, speaking fast and trying to sound guilty. “I have… A date.” He blurted the first thing that popped into his mind.

“Oh! A date?” She gasped, “Is it your soulmate? Oh, when do I get to meet her? I’m sure she’s lovely, how could you not tell me sooner, honey?”

“I- I’m not sure if it’s my soulmate b-but it’s… It’s not a her, ma.” Eddie began, taking a deep breath in effort to calm the anxiety and panic coursing through his veins already. _Inhaler, inhaler, inhaler._  “It’s a boy. I’m gay.” 

Her face faltered for a moment, but she kept up the soft facade. “Oh, sweetie, no you’re not.” Her eyes were wide as if she was concerned, but she yet spoke emotionlessly, “You’re just sick. Have you been taking your pills at college? I knew you were up to no good when you threw your fanny pack away…”

“Are you fucking kidding me right now? Sickness? Okay, what-what sicknesses did I really fucking have, ma? You know what those pills were? They were gazebos! They were bullshit!” Eddie seethed, letting his anger grab hold of him by the throat. He stomped past her and toward the door, hand on the knob. “I’m leaving now. Let me know when you want to accept that I’m gay and that its not - that it’s not one of your made-up fucking sicknesses, and then we can talk. Until you come to terms with all of that, don’t expect to see or hear from me again.”

And with that, new and improved Edward Kaspbrak marched out of his childhood home, slamming the door in his abuser’s face and stomping again down the familiar porch steps. He didn’t stop until he reached Bill’s house, where Bill was already waiting outside for him.

Bill walked down his own steps toward his best friend. “How’d ev-everything g-”  
He was cut off by Eddie going straight in for a hug, pushing his face into Bill’s chest. Bill wrapped his arms around Eddie comfortingly, letting Eddie cry. 

“I told her, Bill,  I told her I was gay and you know what she said? She said I was fucking sick!” He said angrily, though still wailing. “So I told her about the- the-”

“Placebos,” Bill said for him.

“Fuck. I called them fucking gazebos again - to her face. Fuck.” Eddie didn’t cry this, he laughed a bit at himself. Bill chuckled, too.

Bill took Eddie inside wordlessly and they sat in his room on the floor, cross-legged.

“So what m-made you tell her? That you’re g-gay, I mean.”

“Well, I - I met this guy at the Christmas party last week, and I haven’t stopped thinking about him.” Eddie twiddled his thumbs and watched his hands in his lap. “I needed an excuse of why I couldn’t stay long, and I blurted out that I had a date, and she basically asked about the girl and it kind of just came out. That my soulmate wouldn’t be a girl and that I like boys.”

“I’m p-proud of you, dude.”

“I also told her not to expect anything from me until she accepts me, so like, I might be staying here over holidays more often, if you and the fam don’t mind,” Eddie half-smiled, looking up at Bill.

“L-like I said,” Bill reclined on his back on the floor, hands behind his head. The situation reminded Eddie of middle-school sleepovers, and the first time he confessed to Bill that he thought he might not like girls, “You’re like a son - and a brother. Tell me about this guy, though. You haven’t been with anyone in a hot minute.”

“That’s only because lately I’ve felt like I should be saving myself for my soulmate, kind of. But I don’t know,” He traced the covers on Bill’s bed with the tip of his finger, “But with this guy it was… Different. I mean, I know I was drunk, but I felt this weird connection with him. Like, he was the kind of person anyone - even I - would think I’d hate. And I suppose that, in any other universe, I probably would hate him. But,” He sighed, “I just really didn’t. I really  _liked_ him. It was weird. I thought for a little that he could’ve been my soulmate, but I wasn’t sure, so I didn’t say anything. I didn’t want him to think I was jumping to conclusions or anything, you know? Like, what if he didn’t feel the same?”

Billed hummed, signalling he was listening and for Eddie to go on.

“He was hot as fuck, too, I made out with him like fifteen times,” Eddie laughed at his drunk self, “He was really tall. Like, you tall. With all this curly black hair, and freckles, and really pretty brown eyes,” Eddie gushed, remembering the attractive near-stranger clearly. It was engraved in his mind. ”But I didn’t get his number or anything. So, really, I can only hope I’ll see him again one day. His name’s Richie, by the way.” Eddie finished.

Bill sat up suddenly, completely standing up with wide eyes. “D-dude! That’s Stan’s fucking roommate!” He laughed. “Oh, Stan owes m-me ten bucks.”

“Well don’t just fucking stand there, give me his number or something! And what’s this about ten bucks?”

Bill smiled evilly, “Get in the c-car, we’re gonna go surprise them. I’ll exp-plain the bet thing on the way.”

Eddie scrambled to get his shoes on and into Bill’s van, Bill fumbling to find his keys and still trying to get one shoe on while climbing in the car. Wild smiles were on both of their faces.

“You really th-think Richie might be your soulm-mate?” Bill asked as they started toward Parkland district.

“I said I didn’t know, asshole, but maybe.” Eddie blushed at the thought. Charming, beautiful Richie whom he’d only known for a few hours - his soulmate? It seemed impossible. It made his stomach swirl.

“Do you still have those c-candy cane drawings, on your feet, I m-mean?”

“I think so, why?”

“Just checking. We have to have some p-proof. I mean granted, it’s gonna look w-weird either way - worse if we just show up and demand he take off his socks and they ar-aren’t there, but that’s life, you know?” Eddie heart dropped just at the thought. He had to remind himself not to get his hopes up. But Bill did that to people - made them hopeful. “N-now, about the bet…

“Stan and I were t-talking once, about you two, and he was s-saying that if you ever met Richie that you’d hate him, and he seemed so s-sure of it that I couldn’t help but take him up on it. As your best f-friend, I know your type, and Richie definitely fits it. Stan thought the way Richie acts and how messy he is might p-put you off of that completely, but I thought his geeky-quirky-but-still-punk aesthetic he has going on w-would override that. And I was right, too. So therefore, Stan owes me t-ten dollars.” 

“I don’t know how to feel about that. I’m touched that you know me so well, but also, don’t place bets on me, asshole.”

“Won’t happen again, captain.” Bill saluted as he swerved smoothly into what Eddie guessed was Stan’s driveway. “Here.”

“So, what’s the plan?” Eddie asked, looking to Bill as the got out of the van.

“We go up and ring the bell,” Bill replied easily.

“Don’t tell me you’re really gonna make me do this whole soulmate thing by myself, Billy,” Eddie pleaded, feeling slightly betrayed that Bill would do that to him. Bring him all the way here just to let him embarrass himself.

“Now, in what world would I ever do that, Eddie?” Bill smirked at him from over his shoulder confidently, and this comforted Eddie immensely. Of course Bill had a plan. Big Bill always had a plan. This was one of the many reasons Eddie would take a bullet for him.

They walked up the stairs of the big house and Bill rang the doorbell, the two waiting a minute in the cold before Stan came to the door.

“Hey babe, hey Eddie, what’re you guys doing here? I mean, not that I’m not happy to see you-” Stan started, but was cut off by a voice Eddie recognized to be only one person.

“Ayo, who is it?”

And there he was. All, estimately 6′4 of him, standing tall behind Stanley. His black hair looked even curlier and messier, and his pale arms poked out of his blue t-shirt that looked straight out of an old 80′s movie. And was that a gold chain hanging loosely around his neck? Eddie was practically swooning.

The voice broke him out of his trance, quickly, “Eddie Spaghetti?” Richie said, slightly incredulously before smirking. “Jeez, Eds, I thought I’d never see you again, I didn’t know you’d track me down.”

“I didn’t track you down, trashmouth,” Eddie rolled his eyes, “And that’s not my name. It just so happens that our roommates are soulmates.”

“That’s t-true,” Bill chimes in “And you owe me ten b-bucks.” Bill smirked at his boyfriend, who looked even more confused than Eddie could even begin to relate to, and that was saying something.

“Wait, slow down. How do you two know each other? And why do I owe you ten dollars?” Stanley asked, eyebrows furrowed. “Come sit down,” He ushered them in, biting his lip.

He led the three of them to his room, Bill following him, Eddie following Bill, and Richie last. (I have to stay behind you, Eddie Spaghetti! so you don’t get lost! Big house, tiny person, you know?’ ‘God, I change my mind, I hate you.’)

They all sat on the floor of Stan’s bedroom, and it somehow felt… right, to Eddie. Like it was meant for them to be like this. Like something similar was happening right now in a different universe, somewhere.

“So,” Stan began, softly smiling and lending his naturally gentle gaze across from himself, in Eddie’s direction, “Eddie, I trust you too give me the most reliable version of the story. So, please, tell me what’s going on.”

“Well, you know the party last week? I didn’t see you there - but Bill told me you were gonna be there so I figure you were probably with him the whole time - and I didn’t see much of Billy that night either. So, I’m drinking, out on the dance floor just having a good time, and some asshole marches up to me and screams in my face, then nearly physically assaults me, and I’m mentally and physically impaired, so I’m-”

“Hey! That is not how it happened! I can tell what actually happened, let me tell it instead!” Richie objected, “And you were drunk anyway, I was sober. I can tell it better.”

“Not for long, you weren’t!” Eddie argued. They bickered like children over who got to tell the story until Bill chimed in once more.

“Hey, hey! How ab-bout Eddie tells his story and th-then when he’s done Richie tells his version.” He mediated.

“Thank you, Billy. Anyway, so he pulls me over to this wall, and then we’re in the kitchen and he’s being an asshole and then we’re back in the dance room on a couch and before I know it, we’re making out!” Eddie exclaimed, not letting the blush rise enough to actually show, but feels little chills run in his cheeks.

“Oh, shit. Okay, I guess I do owe you ten bucks, babe.” Stan got up to get his wallet. 

“Oh, yeah, and thanks for betting on my better will, Stan. I’d like to think I prefer people who aren’t assholes that look pretty, but Bill knows me better. You bet on me against my best friend, you should’ve figured you’d lose,” Eddie giggled.

“I’m gonna ignore that first part, but yeah,” Richie agreed, “That’s probably why he bet him money and not a blowjob.”

“I mean, I’ll t-take either one,” Bill joked as Stan sat back down and handed him the ten dollar bill.

“Oh, this mouth is worth way more than ten dollars, baby boy,” Stan sassed, albeit a little shyly, but still making the three of them burst into a fit of giggles, like middle school boys. 

“Okay, okay, my turn!” Richie clapped, “So, it all started years ago when I was at this Derry party. I was just doing my thing, when I saw, like, the cutest boy ever-”

“Ugh,” Eddie groaned, leaning back on his arms, “What’s this got to do with anything?”

“Because it was you, lil’ Eddie Spaghetti, you cutie!” Richie reached out to pinch at Eddie’s cheeks again, and Eddie only halfheartedly pulled away, trying to denying the blush that Richie was once again making form on his cheeks. He’d blame the harshness of Richie’s hands if anyone had asked him about it.

“Shut up, go on,” He mumbled.

“So, anyway, I saw this super cute boy, but I didn’t say anything to him or talk to him at all, I kind of just hoped I see him again one day. I thought about him every once in a while, though, particularly when I got all hot and bothered, if you know what I mean, Eds.” Richie nudged Eddie with his elbow, smirking like a little shit.

“Oh my god, you’re literally so disgusting.” Eddie face was nearly beet red, but nobody mentioned it still.

“Only for you, sweetcheeks. So, fast forward I’m at this Christmas party that Stan the Man brought me to, because, you know, I love Derry parties. Way better than Parkland. So we show up and Stan is already sucking his boyfriend’s face off in three seconds of being there, so I go into the kitchen to have a drink, and then I move into the room I hear my favorite Christmas song playing from so I can dance. Life of the party, Richie Tozier, at your service. And then, I see him. Cinderella boy! In the center of the crowd, obviously drunk, dancing his little heart out! And I’m like,  _Fuck, I have to talk to him this time, this is a sign_. So I try to ask his name, but it’s so loud in the crowd of people that I have to yell, but he still doesn’t hear me-”

“That’s hard to believe, you;re pretty loud,” Stan interrupted.

“Yes, Stan, I’m aware. But apparently not loud enough. So I take his hand and lead him to a wall and he’s already flirting with me and making moves to kiss me! But, as a gentleman, I soberly declined, because I couldn’t take advantage of someone so clearly intoxicated. But then…” Richie smiled guiltily, scratching at the nape of his neck. “Well, I was feeling buzzed by the time I was being led into the kitchen by my new, bossy, little drunk friend.”

God, if faces could catch on fire from blushing, Eddie’s entire body would have spontaneously combusted at this point.

“And something about candy canes was said, and I made a blowjob innuendo, I think…” Richie thought for a moment, but at the mention of candy canes, Eddie remembered what he was there for. Eddie moved to finish the story for him.

“And then we made out on the couch and danced and drank and talked for the rest of the night, basically. Now, Richie, if you’d be so kind, take off your socks.” He demanded, making Richie knit his brows together.

“What?”

“I said take off your socks.” Eddie turned his head of messy brown curls to look up at Richie meanwhile taking off his own shoes and socks, watching Richie shrug and do the same after Bill prompted, “J-just go with it.”

Eddie hated feet, especially the thought of some else’s feet - so close to the ground and dirt and all smelly from sweating in your shoes and socks all day,  _ew_  - but he kind of wished this on himself. So, he went with it.

Both boys gazed down at each other’s feet. On all four, little candy canes were matchingly doodled, unmistakably by Eddie. Richie giggled.

“If this is your way of telling me you want me to suck your toes, Eds, I have no choice but to politely decline.”

“No, my candy canes! Don’t pervert them!” Eddie shielded his feet from Richie’s happy gaze before he was tackled by the lanky boy, being attacked by kisses.

“I knew there was something about you,” Richie said, his breath fanning down on Eddie’s face in a familiar way. Eddie pulled him back down for another kiss, smiling wide in the midst of it.

“I knew there was something about you, too, trashmouth.” He said against Richie’s lips, tangling his arms around Richie’s neck, wishing they’d never have to get up.

“Now I get to call you Eddie Spaghetti forever!” Richie laughed evilly into their kiss.

“God, I hate you.” Eddie breathed.

“No, you don’t.” Richie responded cheekily, smiling and keeping his face close to Eddie, still laying on top of him. He kissed the smaller boy again.

“No, I don’t.”


	3. Phone Numbers (stan, bill, mike)

Mike Hanlon had never thought much about soulmates - and had certainly never considered the possibility that he was broken until it happened. He didn’t even know being broken was a possibility.

He had always assumed that by whatever higher power created two people so right for one another that they could be bodily connected (Fate, God, the Secret of the Universe? Mike didn’t know.) would bring him to his  _one true love_  one way or another. That’s how it was supposed to happen. That’s how it always happened. For  _everyone_.

Everyone but Mike Hanlon, apparently.

It started in November. For the first couple of days, all Mike could do was think. He didn’t know what to make of the the notes written on his right arm, observing the black ink on his golden brown skin.

 _I hope you have a great day. I’ll be waiting for Chemistry. I love you. -S_ , with a heart doodled at the end. He noticed how neat the cursive was and how the i’s were dotted with hearts.

Below this, was scrawled in a messier handwriting:  _I’ve been looking at pictures of birds lately, so I hope you like them when I get around to doodling them.. I love you too. -B_

And that was all it took to send Mike’s head spinning.

He had informed his roommate, Ben, and the two rushed to the library that day, checking out every book they could find on soulmates. There were only a couple.  _God, why were there only a couple?_  (He knew the internet would only make him feel worse - seeing couples gloating and telling their love stories. He swore that he didn’t need to hear that.) Mike felt like he could be sick. The books told the two boys nothing they didn’t already know.

“You okay, man?” Ben tentatively asked Mike, putting his hand on his back as Mike sat on his bed, running his hands over his face a couple times - as if this were a dream.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good. Just… confused, is all.”

Ben nodded in understanding and Mike was comforted a little. Ben had always reminded him of his mother - however odd that sounded. Ben was smart, and helpful, and caring, and a good listener. Mike liked Ben a lot. They’d met in the library of their hometown so many years ago - Ben was Mike’s first real friend, being home-schooled and all. Mike soon learned he was Ben’s only friend as well. Busy being the object of Henry Bower’s harassment, he didn’t make much time for people in school - he spent most of it hiding. Mike unlocked this tragic backstory pretty early on in their friendship. The two were inseparable in their free time - bonding over being sought after constantly by Bowers and his gang, along with spending hours in the public library (a place they knew Bowers was far too stupid to enter; and were therefore safe in) trying to figure out their town’s…  _strange_ history.

It had been a few months since the first appearances of the notes, and Mike was less bewildered these spring days than he was at first. The notes weren’t as frequent now as they were back then - and Mike, though still confused, left it alone. He had tried to write to them via his own skin, but never got a response.  _Broken._

He stepped out of his dorm room into the warm April air, the breeze caressing his face. First on his agenda today was his Literature lecture. He personally preferred History, but that wasn’t until two o’clock in the afternoon and Literature started promptly at nine.

His long sleeves covered the doodles that he was sure were scattering his arms - they always did this time of the day. Mike had figured out that this was their Chemistry period. His soulmates’, that is. He wasn’t completely sure whether to call them his soulmates or not - because, if they were his soulmates, surely they would receive his doodles too, right?  _Broken._

Mike snapped himself out of his negative and confusing thoughts as he walked into the Literature hall, watching the other students take their seats. Mike preferred his seat in a middle row, next to his friend - well, less friend, more acquaintance - Eddie.

Mike liked Eddie enough. He was kind of quiet, but the doodles on his arms were loud. He owned more flower crowns than Mike could count, and wore them all frequently - interchangeable and innocent. Mike thought he looked like a little angel - a precious, queer little angel. Mike’s favorite of Eddie’s flower crowns was the blue rose one with the fake thorns. He noticed Eddie only ever paired that with a specific outfit - a light blue sweater and white jeans. Little things like these had compelled Mike to want to get to know Eddie better - but he had always kept his distance, not wanting things to be uncomfortable. And so, he always simply made their routine small talk and waved a friendly ‘see you tomorrow’ as they filed out of class without any other notion.

“Hey Mike,” Eddie smiled as Mike pulled out the chair next to him, taking a seat. “How was your weekend?”

“It was good, I didn’t do much - just hung out with Ben. How ‘bout you?” Mike answered, subconsciously pulling down his sleeves to cover his hands.

“Mine was good, too. Saturday, I got lunch with my high school friend, Bevvie, and pretty much the rest of the weekend I just hung out with Richie, so business as usual.” Eddie replied with a soft smile, reaching into his backpack and pulling out his materials - adjusting his flower crown when he sat back up. “You know, we should hang out sometime.”

Mike hesitated briefly, surprised. What kind of coincidence was that? He tried not to make his momentary falter noticeable. “Yeah, yeah. That’d be sweet, I’m down.” He tried to play it off coolly - it seemed to work.

“Actually…” Eddie began, “Now that I think about it, Richie mentioned a party on Friday…” Eddie gave Mike a devilish grin, knowing Mike well enough to know he liked to party.

“Oh, yo, man, where? I’m so there!” Mike raised his eyebrows and beamed. If Mike wasn’t the star sophomore quarterback of their college’s team, no one would guess that he enjoyed the party scene. He practically oozed responsibility and competence, it felt wrong to imagine him holding a joint or a red solo cup.

“It’s at one of the frat houses - Richie’s friend is throwing it, I think. Here,” He handed Mike his phone, “Put your number in, I’ll text you.”

And so he did, and with that, the lecture commenced.

While Eddie took careful notes, Mike tried to pay attention, he really did, but something was bugging him. He kept sneaking glances at the writings and doodles under his sleeve.  _S… B…_

Before he knew it, class was over and other students began packing up and shuffling down the stairs and out the door.

“Hey, Eddie-” Mike turned to the shorter boy just as he was getting up to leave.

“Yeah?” Eddie looked up. Mike admired his big, doe-like brown eyes and deliberately messy, curly hair. Eddie looked like the cute baby cousin at the family party.

“Uh, can you send me your notes? I just couldn’t pay attention for the life of me today,” He groaned, hoping Eddie wouldn’t sense the weird tone in his voice.

“Yeah, I got you. I’ll send you pictures when I get back to my dorm.”

“You the man, Eddie.” Mike playfully finger-gunned at him, giving him a toothy grin while grabbing his bag from the floor. Eddie recuperated the smile before walking off with a wave.

_Today has been so weird._

Mike gathered his unused things as well, cramming them into his backpack before heading toward the door. He had some thinking to do.

He tried to keep his mind blank on the way home, not wanting to look at the notes on his arm until he was in privacy. The few minute walk felt more like an hour - time always seemed to trudge along when Mike least wanted it to.

Mike broke into a light jog when his dorm room came into view.

“Ben?” Mike called as he entered, whipping to roll up the sleeves of his shirt until they were practically cutting off circulation at his shoulders.

“Hey, how was class?” He asked gingerly, poking his head out from the bathroom, toothbrush in hand.

“Uh, it was okay. I have new notes today,” He said as calmly as he could, putting his stuff down by his bed and sitting in the chair at his desk, swiveling it to face Ben.

“Huh, that’s good. Been awhile since they wrote, hasn’t it?”

“Yeah, a couple weeks. I mean, I still got drawings of birds from B, and I’m sure S did the little hearts. I’m pretty sure they’re the one that always draws in blue sharpie, specifically, and B is all the other drawings… But I’ve noticed something weird, actually…” Mike trailed off, scanning his arms.

“What’s that?” His friend inquires, the sound coming out muffled due to the toothbrush now causing his mouth to foam.

“I only get S’s drawings below my elbows - and B’s only above my elbows. I think it might be the same way with my legs - when I was a kid I only got drawings on my upper arms and my thighs and my knees. I didn’t think anything of it back then, though… But now I know those were probably B… Is that even possible?” Mike asked, incredulous, the look on his face stricken with confusion.

Ben mirrored his expression, now returned from brushing his teeth and moving to sit on his bed. He clasped his hands, rubbing them together.

“I’m not sure. I know you didn’t want to check the internet - but I’ve been doing my research there anyway for lack of better resource. I read some great articles on this sort of thing pretty recently, actually - but it doesn’t seem like your case fits the most usual ones. But the good news is: It is possible to have two soulmates.”

Mike was silent for a moment. “How do you know that isn’t just bullshit? How do you know that’s not just people who already have a soulmate just writing out of pity for people that don’t?” He was bitter, and insecure, though he tried not to let it show in his skepticism.

“I’ll show you, give me a minute.” Ben was swift to pick up his laptop, his tongue poking out of the side of his mouth while he adjusted his glasses and typed furiously.

Mike sighed and turned his chair to his desk. He laid his arms out in front of him. If S was on the bottom, and B on the top, it made sense why sometimes it seemed as if they were having one way conversation. His left arm was cluttered, his right rather clean - he had already known they were both right-handed. He’d deduced that months ago.

He looked to the inside of his left bicep to read.  _I left my phone in my bed this morning so I can’t text you this, obviously, but I did see your text when I woke up, and normally I’d say yes to going, but I promised Georgie I’d come to his basketball game that night. I’m sorry, baby. Have a great day, beautiful, I’ll call you later. -B_

S either hadn’t replied or had replied near to where B had written to him. Either way - Mike couldn’t see it. But S had doodled song lyrics - he realized these are what he had mistaken for notes earlier - all up his left forearm.

_I’ll be waiting up until you get home ‘cause I can’t sleep without you, baby… Anybody who’s ever loved, ya know just what I feel - too hard to fake it, nothin’ can replace it… Call the radio if you just can’t be without your baby…_

It was plausible that B had written something in reply, but Mike figured he would never know.

“Here!” Ben’s exclamation broke Mike away from his wandering thoughts. Mike spun around to face his close friend once again. Ben had his laptop facing Mike, open to an article and a picture.

The photo was of three people - three women. They were all holding their arms out in front of them, undersides facing up. Identical doodles.

“I told you it was possible,” Ben said, his blue eyes wide and a hopeful smile on his face.

“I-” Mike started, but cut himself off, closing his mouth. He sighed before speaking again, eyes trained on the picture. “Those people still have all of each other’s doodles. B and S don’t get mine, remember?”

“Okay, so?” Ben tried, “That doesn’t mean they’re not your soulmates, or that you’re broken. It just means… you’re an odd case. It’s like… It’s like..” He trailed off, trying to think of the right comparison.

“Ben-”

“It’s like Derry. Like, clearly there’s been something going on for centuries - you and I both know that - but everyone else just… blissfully ignores it and lets it happen. I know neither of us are particularly fond of how the people of Derry cope - but I think you should try it this once. Just let it happen.” Ben explained, and to anyone else, it wouldn’t have made the least bit of sense. But, to Mike, it did - even though he didn’t like it.

“But I don’t want to sit around and do noth-” He started, before Ben interrupted him again.

“Mike. This is what you’d planned to do about it since we were kids - kick back and let the universe do it’s thing. We both know it’ll point you in the right direction.”

Mike sighed again, knowing his light-haired friend was right. “Okay.”

* * *

Stan’s week went by unfortunately fast. Sure, Stan liked parties, and he loved his best friend, but he wasn’t sure how he felt about being dragged along to a party without Bill by his side. He knew Richie was obviously bringing Eddie, and though he was happy for the couple and loved hanging out with them, he knew they would end up drunkenly making out on a couch together somewhere away from him.

But by the time he was having these regrets, it was Friday morning - four days too late to back out.

It was a nippy day - especially for April - and he was waiting outside for Bill to pick him up. The couple made plans to get lunch before Bill began his drive home for the weekend.

As selfish as it sounded, Stan kind of wished he was taking Eddie with him. Not because he didn’t like Eddie - because he loved the small boy, how could you not love someone so like yourself? - but for the aforementioned reasoning. Stan wouldn’t mind partying that night if it were just him and Richie like the good ol’ days. But, alas, Stan knew he would have to fend for himself that night. Maybe he could stay in the car. Stan chuckled at the thought as he watched Bill’s blue jeep pull up in the parking lot, and made his way toward it.

“Hey, b-baby,” Bill greeted as Stan pulled himself up into the car.

“Hi, babe,” Stan smiled as he buckled in, leaning to peck Bill on the lips, “Where are we going?”

“Well, I kn-kn-know it’s not particularly romantic, but P-Panera - if that’s alright with you.”

“That’s perfect,” Stan answered, soft smile still laid gently on his features - Bill’s presence always had this effect on him.

Within the next twenty minutes, they were walking into the cafe, holding hands in line as they waited for their turn to order.

Stan looked around and accidentally made brief eye contact with the boy behind the counter - who was, currently, taking the order of the mother and child in front of them. Stan would be lying if he were to say he didn’t find the boy attractive.

He wore a long-sleeve, yellow sweater under his apron, he was tall and muscular, with dark skin that glowed in the afternoon sunlight that was pouring through the windows. Stan checked his nametag. _Mike._

Stan stood quietly by Bill’s side as Bill ordered for the two of them - surprisingly, more stutter-some than usual. Stan knew Bill only talked like than when he was nervous or excited, but pushed it to the back of his mind as just a rough day.

Stan admired the smoothness of Mike’s voice, despite all he said was “Thank you, have a nice day!”

Stan threw a friendly smile in Mike’s direction as the pair walked away, and he swore Mike returned it. Stan felt weird.

“He was really cute,” Bill absentmindedly admired as the two picked a table and sat down.

“Yeah, he was,” Stan agreed, sipping his lemonade. He still felt weird, but ignored it.  _Maybe today was just a weird day._

* * *

“You’re sure you don’t want to come?” Mike asked Ben for the eightieth time.

“You know how I feel about parties, Mike,” Ben chuckled, adjusting his reading glasses and looking up from his textbook to watch Mike pull his phone out meanwhile putting on his jacket.

“I know, I know but… I feel bad, you staying in here by yourself all night,” Mike confessed. He wasn’t exactly worried about his friend’s sociability, he knew Ben had made friends in his classes and hung out with them, still, but he truly did feel a pang of guilt knowing he’d be leaving him there alone for hours.

“I’ve got an essay due Monday morning, dude, I’ll keep busy.” Ben promised, and Mike gave him a half smile before turning his attention to his phone that had just buzzed in his hand.

\- (8:37 pm) Flower crown Eddie from Lit: hey, the party’s at the alpha sig house

\- (8:37 pm) Flower crown Eddie from Lit: if you wanna text me when you’re here we can meet up and i can introduce you to some of my friends? like if you want to

\- (8:38 pm) Me: Yeah man that sounds cool, I’ll let u know for sure

Mike tucked his phone back into his pocket, relieved. Alpha Sig was close - only a fifteen minute walk from Mike and Ben’s dorm. He didn’t like driving to parties, especially ones he went to alone, no designated driver to assure his getting-home-safely. He looked back toward his friend, who had refocused on his book. “Well, if you change your mind, Eddie said it’s at Alpha Sig.”

“Flower crown Eddie?” Ben raised an eyebrow but didn’t look up again. Mike saw his eyes scanning the page.

“The one and only,” Mike chuckled, reaching for the door handle, “I’ll see you later, dude!” He called from the doorway.

“See you! Be safe!” Ben mothered quickly before Mike shut the door, heading in the direction of Alpha Sig.

Mike could hear the party as he neared it. He momentarily wondered if the cops would be called before continuing on.

He approached the lit up house confidently, hands shoved into his pockets. He hastily texted Eddie.

\- (8:54 pm) Me: Yo im here, did u wanna meet still?

\- (8:54 pm) Flower crown Eddie from Lit: yea! we’re actually on the front porch rn, i can see you walking up

Mike looked up from his phone, and sure enough, there was Eddie - though, flower-crownless - standing with a boy, a girl, and another boy. The first boy, Mike noticed, was tall, with dark, curly hair, and thick ass glasses. He had his arms strewn around Eddie’s neck and shoulders. The girl had short, boy-cut red hair, but that’s as much detail as Mike could make out from where he was. The last boy stood on the other side of Eddie, more with the black haired boy. Mike recognized him - he was a customer earlier that day.  _Small world, huh?_

Mike jogged up the steps, a friendly grin taking up his face.

“Hey Mike!” Eddie broke away from the taller boy to greet Mike enthusiastically, “Glad you could make it. This is my boyfriend, Richie,” Eddie turned and motioned to the boy he had stepped away from - Richie - behind him. Richie stepped forward, extending a hand.

“Richie Tozier, at your service.” Mike pushed up the sleeves of his red zip-up a bit (so that he no longer had sweater paws, that would’ve been embarrassing) and shook his hand firmly yet friendly.

“Mike Hanlon,” He nodded at Richie as the girl to Eddie’s back left stepped forward.

“This is my friend from high school, Bevvie,” Eddie explained, letting her through to shake Mike’s hand.

“Beverly Marsh,” She spoke delicately yet coolly, and Mike got a good look at her in the light emanating from inside. She had big, bright green eyes, perfectly straight and white teeth, and freckles dotting across her nose. “But everyone just calls me Bev. Bevvie’s a childhood nickname,” She smirked and elbowed Eddie, causing him to squirm.

“Ah, I’ve heard about you! Mike Hanlon, charmed.”

“What, Eds, you didn’t tell him about me? I’m hurt,” Richie nudged Eddie as well, and Eddie shoved him playfully before Mike interjected.

“Don’t worry, I’ve heard lots about you, too.” Eddie’s cheeks flushed at Mike’s statement.

“Don’t mind Richie, he’s an attention whore,” The last of the four stepped forward, smiling politely and extending his hand finally. “I’m Stanley Uris, but most just call me Stan.”

“Yeah, I think I recognize you, did you happen to come into a Panera Bread with a guy about.. Yay-high, today?” Mike estimated the height of the boy he saw Stan, apparently, with today. He shook Stan’s hand gently - Stan seemed like a gentle person.

Stan let out a curt snort. Mike didn’t know snorts could sound cute before then. “Yeah, that was my boyfriend, Bill. I’m surprised you recognized me, honestly.”

“Well, I-” Mike began, before he was cut off by Richie.

“Eddie and I are gonna go grab some drinks and fuck off in general, and we’ve already lost track of Beverly in the last three seconds.” Mike noted he was talking more to Stan than to him. They must have all come together.

“Okay, but I’m DD so I decide when we leave!” Stan called after the couple, Eddie already halfway down the hall, tugging Richie behind him.

“I don’t know Eddie that well, but he didn’t strike me as much of a party-goer, guess I was wrong,” Mike said, absentmindedly, watching the pair as Stan yelled to them.

Stan turned back to Mike, “Speaking of, how do you know Eddie?” He asked, entertaining polite conversation.

“We sit next to each other in our Literature lecture,” Mike shrugged, “We normally just make small talk. I’d like to hang out and get to know him a little better, he seems cool - actually he invited me here to… hang out I guess - but something tells me that won’t be happening.” Mike smiled, amused with his little (dare he say it) friend.

Stan let out a breathy laugh. “Don’t worry - you’re not missing out on much. Richie’s the only one that can handle Kaspbrak when he’s drunk. Bossy.”  _Kaspbrak, Eddie Kaspbrak._  Mike kept the name in mind to change his contact later.

“Ah,” Mike raised his eyebrows, amused again, “They soulmates?”

“Yeah,” Stan nodded, maintaining the wistful, innocent grin on his face, “It’s funny, actually, Richie is my best friend and Eddie is my boyfriend’s - er, Bill’s - best friend. Beverly grew up with Bill and Eddie, but when we were introduced, Richie took a quick liking so we adopted her into our sort of ‘group’ pretty quick. We all grew up just a school district away… I don’t remember why that’s all relevant, I’m sorry,” Stan rambled, and Mike could feel the boy’s anxiousness.

“It’s all good, I’m curious. So where’d you all grow up?” Mike wasn’t sure why he was so intrigued, though he was sure he wasn’t simply inquiring out of politeness. He chalked it up to his natural inquisitiveness.

“Richie and I grew up going to Parkland while Bill, Eddie, and Bev grew up in Derry. They’re just a couple hours from here - Do you wanna go inside?” Stan hugged his sweater closer to his body, and Mike nodded, grabbing the door and holding it open for his new acquaintance.

“That’s funny, actually,” He said to Stan as they strode down the hall. The house reeked of alcohol and sweat. “I grew up in Derry, too, but I was home-schooled by my mom so I could help out on my family’s farm.”

“Huh,” Stan hummed in interest as he rounded into the kitchen. He poured himself a cup of cream soda. “Want some?” He nodded to Mike, gesturing to the cup in his hand. Mike nodded.

Stan finished pouring and went to lean against the counter beside him. They sipped their drinks in silence. Mike spoke after a little while.

“Do you wanna get out of here? I mean, I know this cafe that’s only a block from here, we can come back for your friends since you’re DD…” He suggested, somewhat apprehensively, wary of the curly haired boy’s answer.

Stan simply looked up at him and smiled, nodding, and Mike observed the dimples that formed in his cheeks.  _His soulmate is one lucky guy._

The two left their cups on the counter and the shorter followed Mike out, clamoring down the steps - side by side by then.

“Didn’t realize I wasn’t in much of a party mood,” Mike mused as they began their walk, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jacket just to have somewhere to put them.

Stan chuckled once. “I’ve known since Monday morning that I wasn’t in a party mood, but once I agree to something that Richie pressures me into - he doesn’t usually let me back out.”

Mike smiled and glanced next to him. He noticed Stan clutching his arms in his hands, obviously cold, and made his next move without anything forethought.

“Are you cold?” He started taking off his jacket, “Here, you can have this.”

He handed the crimson jacket to Stan, who stopped walking and looked at it for a moment before hesitantly taking it, slipping it on. Mike noted that it was adorably oversized.

The boys walked the rest of the way in silence, Stan seeming to be lost in thought and Mike not thinking at all.

* * *

Stan listened to the bell jingle as Mike held the door open. He looked around the quaint, little coffee shop and quickly followed Mike to a two person table, pulling himself up onto the bar stool. He noted that it was pretty empty this time of night. Stan sat and began taking off his - Mike’s - coat.

“I’m gonna get a coffee, did you want anything?” Mike asked him, hopping off his chair as soon as he’d gotten on.

“Uh, yeah, could you get me some green tea? My wallet’s…” Stan patted his pocket before he facepalmed, still holding Mike’s jacket, “In the car.”

Mike let out a small laugh, “It’s on me.” He turned too quickly to see Stan blush in embarrassment. Only he could be so forgetful.

And so Stan sat there for the couple of minutes it took Mike to get their drinks. He let the redness of his face subside, trying to think of anything but Mike being so gentlemanly. Mike made him feel… weird. Good weird. Bill weird.

Stan’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He saw Mike grab the drinks and head back toward their table. Stan quickly debated if it would be rude to take his phone out.  _What if it’s Richie? What if it’s an emergency? What if it’s Bill?_  Going against his mannerly nature, he pulled his phone out.

\- (9:23 pm) Bill 


	4. chapter 3 cont!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ive reposted this nine thousand times now ksjdfhfwkruhferg but OKAY BBASICALLY i had an emoji after bills name bc i originally posted this to my tumblr and tumblr is chill with emojis but apparently ao3 is NOT so it didnt post past that first emoji but im here to post the rest of the freaking chapter!!! i cant believe half of it got cut off and i didnt even notice for two weeks. thank you to @ShippingTrash4Life for bringing this to my attention!!

\- (9:23 pm) Bill: hi baby, i just wanted to check up on you, i hope you’re having fun, Georgie won his game, so that’s cool, but i miss you lots :(

\- (9:23 pm) Me: I’m alright, I hope you had a good night. I miss you, too :( Wish you were with me

“Here’s your tea,” Mike returned with a smile and handed Stan the warm cup.

“Thanks,” Stan reciprocated his content tone, flashing him a small smile with teeth, “Ah - Here’s, uh, here’s your sweatshirt back.” He awkwardly pushed the bundle he had been holding on the table across to Mike.

“So,” Mike commenced conversation, “What’s your soulmate like?”  

Stan felt as if this guy could read his mind. “Are you sure you wanna ask that? I could probably talk about Bill for forever.” Truthfully, Stan was skeptical that he was even really interested, and he didn’t want to bore Mike.

“I’m sure. I’m a curious person.” Mike put his head in his hands across the table, looking at Stan expectantly.

“Well, he likes to learn to draw me things that I like, which I think is really sweet. He… He has a little brother that he loves a lot. His little brother, actually, nearly died a few years ago - he’s okay now, of course, but the whole ordeal really shook Bill up and  he’s told me since then he’s been two-thousand times more protective. He’s actually back home for his basketball game tonight, which is why he wasn’t with the rest of us… Um… We haven’t been together too long. Since November. I met him because of Richie, actually… Well, really, formally met. I’d known who he was before because of my morning Chemistry class, and I guess I had a little crush on him. It’s kind of funny actually, I never drew on myself before I met him - he’s told me before that he thought he was, like…  _Broken._ ”

Mike let out a breathy laugh. “I relate too much.”

Now it was Stan’s turn to inquire. He sipped his tea, testing the temperature. It burned his top lip slightly. “What do you mean?”

“Have you ever heard of someone having two soulmates? Like, there being three of them?” Mike tilted his head like he already knew Stan’s answer. He shifted his position so that he was sitting upright, and took a sip of his coffee. He was still leaning forward.

“I mean, I’ve seen stuff online about it, kind of, but I’ve never known anyone with two soulmates.” Stan was slightly perplexed. Did Mike have two soulmates? What was that like?

“Well, now you do.” He read Stan’s mind again, stating the fact simply.

“That cool, though, what are they like?”

“I don’t know, never met ‘em, but they’ve already met each other… And I, uh, I don’t think they get my doodles.”

“Really?”

“Well, actually, the whole thing is kind of weird.”

“Like how?”

“Like, I only get their doodles on certain parts of my body. Like, one of them, their initial is B, or their name, I’m not sure, but I can only see their drawing when they’re drawn on my biceps or my thighs. And S, S doesn’t draw much, but when they do it’s usually little hearts, and I can only see them when they’re drawn below my elbows or my knees. S likes when B draws birds…” Mike sighed wistfully, looking as if his mind was somewhere else.

Stan furrowed his eyebrows and made a face, letting his eyes fall to Mike’s arms - still covered by the same yellow sweater from earlier that day. “That’s… weird. That sounds a lot like-”

He was cut off by his phone ringing loudly, and he watched Mike jump, startled. He lifted it from the table - it was Beverly.

“I’m sorry, it’s Beverly, I should probably-”

“No, yeah, you’re fine,” Mike shook his head as if physically shaking himself out of his thoughts. Stan looked back to his screen and swiped right.

“Hello?”

“Stan!” Beverly yelled. She sounded intoxicated for sure, but not fully drunk-sounding, “Where are you?!”

“Uh, I skipped out on the party to get coffee with Mike, wh-?”

Beverly cut him off. “You need to come back! Richie and Eddie are - oh, god - RICHIE! OH MY GOD! STAN PLEASE COME BACK!” There was loud and indecipherable background noise, and it sounded like the phone was dropped.  
“Okay, okay, I’ll be right there, I’ll see you soon!” Stan spoke quickly, now jittery with panic, hanging up and hastily jumping down from his chair and forgetting any previous thought he had. Mike followed suit.

“Everything okay?” He asked, big brown eyes clouding with concern. Stan would’ve admired them if Bev hadn’t thoroughly freaked him out just now.

“Uh, apparently not, so I have to go, something with Richie and Eddie - I’m not really sure, but it doesn’t sound good,” Stan answered, already halfway out of the cafe, Mike on his heels.

The two jogged back to the party, and Mike seemed a lot more cool about that than Stan. High school varsity baseball hadn’t totally paid off - and Stan almost asked Mike for a piggyback ride. He seemed more than strong enough, his muscles showing even under a sweater and in the dark.

When they arrived back at the house, they bounded up the front porch stairs in unison and Stan threw open the door, beginning to search the house for his friends.

When he found the bedroom the trio of idiots were in, he nearly couldn’t believe the scene that laid before his eyes. He stood still in the doorway.

* * *

Mike stood behind Stan and tried to make out what was going on, but the music coming from downstairs was still near deafening.

He saw Eddie, laying on the floor, passed out, something staining the white shirt he’d been wearing under his - now flap-down - overalls. He saw Richie sitting criss-cross next to Eddie, pants-less and holding his head in his hands, crying, not even seeming to notice Stan and Mike’s presence. He saw Beverly sitting up in the still-made bed against the headboard, who had seemed to have nodded off. Stan cleared his throat loudly, causing Beverly’s eyes to snap open, and Richie to raise his head slightly.

“Oh, Stanley! You’re here! Eddie’s dead!” Richie sobbed over Eddie’s unconscious body, not moving from his spot on the ground.

“What the  _fuck_ , Richard?” Stan exclaimed, walking into the room. Mike watched the scene play out, hanging back in the doorway. “This is why I don’t leave you alone with alcohol, oh my god, Bev?” He looked to her and interrogated by simply speaking her name. He spoke to them like he was chastising children, and it made Mike want to laugh. He was amused.

“Sorry - I’m - I’m high… What happened… was, I come inside because… ‘cause I hear yelling…” She blinked slowly, “And these two… They’re in the living room nearly… Nearly fucking on a couch. But then… Eddie pukes down his own shirt - and I’m like ‘Oh, fuck! Those are… Those are my dumbasses!’”

Mike chalked up Stan’s expression as nothing short of irritated. “Can we speed up the explanation a little bit, Bev?”

She waves her hand in the air. “I’m getting to it. So I call you, and… and I’m shook! And I get them up here, only… like, like right before you got here… and Eddie… He was leaning on Richie, and then he fell.” She looked down to Eddie solemnly, her story apparently over. “I don’t know where his pants are.” She calmly stated and pointed to Richie, who’s head was back in his arms, her eyes never leaving the couple on the ground.

“I told you, Bev! He’s dead!” Richie glanced up and cried again, moving his hand to hold Eddie’s. Mike rolled his eyes but smirked, pushing himself up from leaning on the door frame and walking into the room.

He knelt down on the other side of Eddie, picking up his limp arm and feeling his wrist for a pulse. “He’s not dead,” He humored Richie, “He has a pulse. And he’s breathing.” Mike glanced to Stan, who had sighed and hadn’t been given a chance to speak, before slipping his arms under Eddie’s body and scooping him up bridal style. His mouth hung open for a moment before he hazily blinked a couple times.

“W-what?” He croaked, and the sound caused Richie to trip while scrambling to his feet.

“Eddieee! You’re aliii-!” Richie began to slur, before Stan cut him off.

“ _Shut the fuck up, Richie_ ,” Stan silenced him immediately, rubbing his temples before looking around at them as he spoke, “We’re going home. We can all stay in mine and Richie’s dorm for the night, just… just come down to the car, please. Mike, if you wouldn’t mind carrying Eddie down.”

“Yeah, I got you. Do you want me to come? Someone’ll probably have to carry him all the way.” He nodded to the barely conscious twenty-year-old in his arms.

“Yeah, that’d be good,” Stan clearly tried his best to give Mike a smile, but Mike could tell he was stressed.

Stumbling through the house behind a half naked guy he barely knew while carrying said guy’s half-conscious, puke-and-alcohol smelling boyfriend made it an odd night for Mike, but he was always willing to lend a hand. There’d been worst nights in his history.

Stan and Richie sat up front in Richie’s red truck, Eddie still being cradled in Mike’s arms in the backseat with Beverly sitting across the car from them. The car-ride was silent, not even Richie spoke a word. Mike was fairly sure he was asleep, actually.

Eddie hadn’t passed out again, which was good, and Mike did his best to keep him awake, shifting him every so often until Eddie would stir restlessly in reply. He also thanked god that he didn’t puke again, either.

When Stan parked the car in front of the dorm, he walked around to open the door for Mike, who carefully climbed out. Richie stumbled sleepily behind them, and Bev was last to walk over to the door behind them all. Stan unlocked it and they all filed in.

Mike set Eddie down on what was seemed to be Richie’s bed while Stan grabbed a glass of water. Richie and Bev both settled for the floor.

“Give this to Eddie, make sure he drinks at least half the cup,” He listened to Stan instruct someone, making his way to the door. He heard someone walk up behind and then next to him. Stan.

“I’d offer to drive you home, but now leaving them alone makes me anxious. Don’t want them to burn the place down,” Stan rolled his eyes and attempted to add sarcastic humor to the situation.

“It’s cool, do you wanna give me your number? Maybe we can hang out sometime again and, like, not have to worry about drunk people.” Mike chuckled.

“Ah, yeah, I’d like that,” Stan smiled and grabbed a marker off of the desk nearby. Mike stood still in the open doorway once again, and outstretched the palm of his left hand, Stan grabbing it lightly with his fingers to hold it straight while he wrote with the sharpie.

Mike watched his palm as Stan worked, and, by some twist of fate, both of their eyes wandered to the hand holding loosely to Mike’s - Stan’s left hand - where the same writing had appeared. The boys lifted their heads from their hands and locked wide eyes.

“I-” They both started simultaneously.

“Stan!” Richie called, interrupting them, “Stan!” He impatiently repeated, louder, after no answer for a whole second.

“I have to-”

“No, yeah-”

“Okay, do you wanna-?”

“Yeah, I’ll call you tomorrow-”

“Cool. Goodnight.” Stan ended the conversation, staring at his feet now, both of them still clearly starstruck.

“Goodnight.” Mike stepped back, answering while Stan closed the door.

_Holy fucking shit._

The next day couldn’t come fast enough for Mike.

He sprinted all the way home, beaming - he was ecstatic.

“Ben!” He cheered, flinging himself through the doorway of their dorm.

“You’re home early, it’s not even eleven,” Ben spoke, looking up from his laptop that he was sat on his bed reading from.

Mike discarded his shoes and jacket, and proceeded to climb onto the opposite bed. He told Ben every detail of the night, actually bouncing with joy.

When one in the morning rolled around and it seemed time to go to bed, Mike could hardly sleep. He just wanted it to  _be tomorrow already._

* * *

Stan woke up first the next morning, at promptly ten o’clock, which was his body clock’s usual time on weekends.

His head was spinning, though he remained sober last night, he still had a lot to think about. While the others slept in, he laid in bed and stared at the ceiling for a few minutes, trying his best to replay what Mike had been saying in the coffee shop.

Two soulmates. S and B. B draws birds, they write notes. And then what happened last night - Did Bill get it, too?

Stan checked his phone.

\- (9:43 am) Bill: [New picture message]

\- (9:43 am) Bill: morning, princess - just curious, why’d you write your own number on your hand?

\- (10:07 am) Me: Call me

“Bill,” Stan answered urgently on the first ring.

“Is euh-ev-everything ok-kay? You’re kuh-k-kind of w-w-w-worrying me,” Bill responded as hastily, struggling to get the words out - Stan could tell he was telling the truth.

“Nothing to be worried about, I just… Hold on.” Stan stepped into the bathroom, over Bev’s sleeping body on the floor, so that he could talk without fear of waking them. “Last night… I don’t even know where to start.” Stan held his head in his hand. He could see Bill in his head, eyebrows knitted together and biting his top lip as he did when he was trying to figure something out.

“Y-you’re not going t-to tell me you ch-ch-cheated on me, right?” Bill seemed to joke, but the stutter gave him away his anxieties once again.

“What? Oh my god, no, I would never!” Stan was quick to object. “What I’m trying to say is… Would you believe me if I told you we had another soulmate?”

* * *

“Hello?” Stan picked up on the first ring, much to Mike’s surprise. His voice sounded different over the phone.

“Stan? It’s, uh, it’s Mike,” He informed nervously, tugging at the hem of the shirt he wore to bed. He felt like a schoolgirl talking to her crush.

“H-hey, Mike,” Stan fumbled, “So, um, the writing last night - Bill got it, too.” Mike could hear the bit of smile in his words as he explained, “I just got off the phone with him a half an hour ago… He’s coming back to campus today, if you, uh, want to meet him. He really wants to meet you - he was stuttering so badly, I think out of nervousness and excitement,” Stan giggled into the receiver.

“I would love to meet him!” Mike exclaimed, a bit too loudly. Ben rolled over in the bed across the room.

“I - Do you want his number? Actually, I’ll add you to a group chat - Bill doesn’t usually like group chats, he mutes all of the ones he’s in, usually. He thinks they can be a waste of notifications, sometimes, but I think he can make an exception this time-” Stan rambled adorably. Mike made note of the habit.

“Yeah, Mike just smiled, “Yeah, that’d be…. really great.”

“Stan!” Mike heard in the background of the phone call, and Stan groaned.

“I’m sorry they’re always tearing us apart,” He laughed briefly before his name was called again, causing him to yell ‘Shut up, Richie! Give me a minute!’ in response before returning to Mike on the phone, “Duty calls,” He sighed before continuing, “I’ll call you later - Bill should be home around five, we could go and get dinner? Somewhere nice, I mean…” He trailed off, his name being screamed again. “FOR FUCK’S SAKE-” Mike heard him yell before the call cut off. He laughed quietly and held the phone down in his lap.

“Sounds perfect.” Mike grinned again, talking softly to himself.

It wasn’t until two in the afternoon that Mike started receiving texts from Stan and an unknown number - which only plausibly could have been Bill.

\- (2:12 pm) Stan: Hi. I don’t want to introduce you two just yet, but I made dinner reservations at this fancy place my parents always take me to… I’ll send the address later

\- (2:13 pm) [Unknown Number]: sounds great, i’m on my way home now. i’m looking forward to meeting you, mike

Mike quickly put Bill in as a contact. He was excited, too.

\- (2:13 pm) Stan: Don’t text and drive! You’ll get yourself killed!

\- (2:14 pm) Bill: i’m at a backed up red light, i think i’m okay

\- (2:14 pm) Me: Have to go with stan on this one, im not tryna have u die any time soon

\- (2:15 pm) Bill: fine, fine, i’ll talk to you guys when i get home

Mike’s phone rang while he was in the car on his way to meet up with Bill and Stan for dinner. He had spent nearly an hour putting together an outfit - with Ben’s help - and hoped he was dressed appropriately. He picked up the phone.

“Hey Stan,” He greeted coolly, not wanting to sound as nervous as he felt.

“Hey,” Stan greeted in return, and Mike heard a ‘H-hi!” in the background, which could only have been Bill, “I just wanted to let you know we’re here already, and to just give the host my name.”

“Can do,” Mike nodded, “I should be there in a couple minutes.”

“Great,” Mike could hear the smile in Stan’s voice again. He’s pretty sure Stan was the only one of the three of them that wasn’t shaking with nerves. “We’ll see you in a bit then.”

“See you,” Mike smiled before hanging up. A few more moments that happened to go by like years and Mike was rounding into the parking lot, parking his old little car and looking up at the place. Stan wasn’t kidding when he said fancy - Stan’s parents clearly had money.

He began the walk toward the building, hoping his hands weren’t really as sweaty as they felt.

* * *

Bill shifted on the balls of his feet, adjusting his weight and fidgeting constantly.

“Why don’t you sit down?” Stan giggled at his odd behavior, “You look weird, standing in the middle of the restaurant like that.” He chuckled again.

“I’m n-n-nervous, St-Stanley… I mean, w-what if he doesn’t luh-l-like me? I m-mean, I know I think h-he’s cute, but what if he th-thinks I-I’m-”

“Bill,” Stan cut him off from babbling anymore about his insecurities, standing to adjust Bill’s collar that kept flipping up onto his neck. “You’re one of the most beautiful guys I’ve ever seen. He’s not going to think any less of you than I do.”

Bill took a deep breath and caught a glimpse of the same man that had led them to this table leading a tall, dark-skinned, and handsome boy over to where they stood.

“Ooh, here he comes,” Stan whispered, and Bill glanced down to see the grin explode on Stan’s face as he looked toward Mike.

“Your party, sir,” The snobbish-sounding host bowed his head briefly to Mike before turning and walking away, leaving Mike standing there and looking unsure of what to do. Bill felt the same way. Thank god for Stan.

“Mike,” Stan smiled and walked forward, taking Mike’s hand and leading him toward Bill. Bill grinned nervously and thought passingly about how bad his stutter was going to be as soon as he opened his mouth. “This is Bill. Bill, Mike.”  
Mike chewed on his bottom lip and looked at Bill - expression unreadable.  _Oh god, oh god, oh, god._

To his great surprise, Mike took one stride forward, albeit still holding Stan’s hand, took Bill’s cheek gently in his palm, and briefly connected their lips. He turned and did the same to Stan before taking Bill’s hand, too.

“Have to admit,” Mike chuckled, “I sort of wanted to do that since I saw you in the Panera the other day.”

This caused Bill to laugh, and he grabbed Stan’s free right hand with his own left - the three of them standing together, connected as they were meant to be.

“Nice to meet you, too, then.” Bill smiled wide, the two others reciprocating.  _No stutter._


End file.
